


Torchwood 3: The Phoenix of Cardiff Bay

by a_lanart



Series: Mystery Verse [28]
Category: Doctor Who, Highlander: The Series, Torchwood
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Children of Earth Compliant, Crossover, Episode Related, M/M, Not Miracle Day Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 66,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_lanart/pseuds/a_lanart
Summary: Methos, Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Siannon O'Niall and others have to deal with events both during and in the aftermath of the 5 days that changed their world.This covers the time during Children of Earth and a few months afterwards; it is Children of Earth compliant and tells the story of the attempt to destroy Torchwood 3, and its eventual rise from the ashes, from the point of view of the people it affected; mortals and immortals both.





	Torchwood 3: The Phoenix of Cardiff Bay

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shattered in Aspect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19973) by [a_lanart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_lanart/pseuds/a_lanart). 



> This is an Omnibus edition of [Shattered in Aspect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19973), [Reign of Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314892) and [An Unbearable Lightness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386416) with edits to make it flow more linearly time-wise and with less of the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey jumpiness. I’m sure Methos would approve as time travel makes his head hurt. It's a sad, angsty, happy, bitter, silly, tragic, sweet and hopeful fic (yes, all of them).
> 
> Quotes within are from the songs 'Shattered in Aspect' by Faith and the Muse, 'No Time to Cry' by the Sisters of Mercy and 'Reign of Scars' by Pro-jekt. Also contains some Children of Earth dialogue gained from subtitles. Rated mature because of the Children of Earth source material, otherwise would be teen for language. 
> 
> The BBC/RTD own the Torchwood/Who universe and its characters. Panzer/Davis Productions own the Highlander universe and its characters. I own the OCs.

~*~ Torchwood 3: The Phoenix of Cardiff Bay ~*~

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

  


*

Children of Earth: Day 2 _~ No time for heartache ~_

  
*

It was a long time since Methos had ridden - or been - the Nightmare, even in his dreams. When he woke in the darkness of his London flat with his heart pounding and his mouth dry his first reaction was to check that his sword was within reach and that there were no unexpected... visitors. The vague sense of foreboding and horror that accompanied his awakening was soon quashed by the realities that ensured his continued survival; 5000 years was a long time to have been alive, and Methos had no intention of dying - especially not when he had two bloody good reasons for his continued good health living in Cardiff. Satisfied that he wasn't likely to lose his head if he went to sleep, Methos crawled back into bed, silently commiserating with himself about how cold and unwelcoming it seemed without the warmth of Jack or Ianto – but preferably Jack _**and**_ Ianto – to chase away the loneliness. As he drifted back into sleep he considered – not for the first time – packing in his lucrative job at the museum and moving lock, stock and barrel to Cardiff. So far his head had won that battle over his heart, but Methos was becoming more convinced every day that his heart had the right idea. He sleepily resolved to begin looking into it the next day.

Still somewhat bleary eyed in the morning, Methos didn't bother switching on his television when he was making his morning coffee and decided to forego the annoying cheeriness of the breakfast radio show in his car in favour of waking himself up by giving his ear drums a good blast of Muse. At work, everyone else seemed to be running late so he hooked up his ipod and decided to grab a 10 minute cat nap. Consequently, it was almost 9am by the time someone switched on the TV in the break room of the museum.

By five past nine Methos was back in his car, breaking every speed limit possible and more than a few other traffic laws besides. He didn't care. There was no rational thought involved; just the sheer, overwhelming need to be _**there**_ and not where he happened to be at that moment.

*

Ianto's heart was pounding as he made his way as close to the Plass as he dared. He needed to see - needed to know - if Jack had survived at least semi-intact. It was all very well for Jack to say he could survive anything, but Ianto was fairly certain he'd never had a high-yield explosive device implanted in his body before. What he saw chilled him to the bone and made him very glad he had nothing left in his stomach; the body bag they were carrying from the wreckage was less than a third full and looked more like it contained butchers off-cuts than human body parts – if Jack could still be classed as human. Ianto forced himself to watch; there was nothing he could do now – there were too many people, too many guards – but if he could just get his hands on a laptop, he might have a chance. The registration number of the private ambulance was a place to start as even if it wasn't in the official database he had ways and means of discovering its history. While he wasn't quite in the same league as Tosh had been, his knowledge of software design and security systems was more than adequate to get the job done, thanks to his time with the Watchers. There was just the issue of obtaining a computer and much as he hated to involve them further, right here and right now he only had one place to turn...

There was a pay phone round the corner from the newsagent that surprisingly never seemed to get excessively vandalised. Outsiders didn't understand how or why, considering the condition of the rest of the estate at times, but Ianto knew it was because it was still a lifeline for so many people - after all what did you do when the credit ran out on your mobile 3 days before your next money came in or your land line was cut off because you'd decided to feed the kids instead of paying the bills? Fairly much everything else was fair game, but this phone - this one phone on the whole estate - _always_ worked, protected by the very gangs that caused so much trouble elsewhere.

Ianto was glad to see that the phone appeared to have been ignored by the surveillance team – they were more interested in watching Rhiannon's house – so while he waited for the paper boy to show up he would be able to make the phone call he'd been desperately wanting to since the bomb that destroyed the Hub – and Jack with it – had exploded. His fingers trembled as he dug loose change from his pocket; by now Methos would have seen the news, and know that someone had tried to annihilate Torchwood. The thought of how Methos might react skirted the edge of terrifying, while at the same time the possibilities stirred darkly satisfying thoughts of vengeance deep within Ianto. He tapped in the number, and cursed furiously under his breath in frustration when the call wasn't picked up. He considered not leaving a message, but decided that Methos needed to know that he, at least, was alive.

"It's Ianto. I'll call you back."

*

"At fucking _**last**_!" Trying to escape the gridlock that was central London had been seven kinds of hell for Methos so his resulting shout when he finally reached the open road and could put his foot down was compounded of equal parts of frustration and relief, heavily leavened by his all consuming and ever present need.

The part of Methos that could still think was surprised that he hadn't been pulled up by a member of the traffic police with nothing better to do than harass distressed citizens. Most of him didn't care. The Jaguar was a car that was made for speed and he took every advantage of that, eating up the miles as fast as he could. It wasn't fast enough. It would never be fast enough.

His phone chose that moment to ring, but the voice that met his ears when he answered wasn't either of the ones he so desperately wanted to hear; Irish, not Welsh or American, and certainly not male. Even so, Siannon O'Niall was a good friend, and probably almost as worried as he was.

"Did you see the news this morning?" She asked

"I saw the news."

There was a pause, and a whispered 'shit' that he presumed he wasn't meant for him, then a deep breath.

"Tell me you're not on your way to Cardiff," she demanded.

"I am not on my way to Cardiff."

"Methos! You're driving; I can hear the road noise. Where the fuck _**are**_ you?"

She sounded increasingly desperate, which twisted the knife in his guts just that little bit more, so he glanced at the sat nav which he had been studiously ignoring as it only told him how slowly he was going.

"On the M4. Near Reading."

"Then get _**off**_ the fucking motorway and book yourself into a hotel or something."

"Give me one good reason why I should! Someone blew up the Hub last night. Jack _**lives**_ in the bloody place and Ianto... Ianto was probably there too!"

"The news said there were survivors." He could hear the hope in her voice both offering and asking for reassurance. He had none to give.

"Two! I have to know..." He was prevented from saying more by her yelling at him.

"Methos! Think!"

There was the sound of another deep breath from the other end of the line. Methos thought she was probably trying to calm herself down. He silently wished her luck.

"Listen to me," she continued. "If someone wanted Torchwood out of the way enough to blow the Hub sky high then they're going to be watching the bloody place like hawks. The best thing we can do for them is keep away. You go to Cardiff now and you'll only be putting yourself – and them – at risk."

"I'm immortal."

"Yeah, and so's Jack. But Ianto isn't, and neither is Gwen. Will you use your head before you lose it, for fuck's sake?!"

Methos had to agree that Siannon actually had a point no matter how much it killed him inside to admit it. Time for his head to try and regain some control over his heart, he supposed. He drew a shaky breath, perilously close to breaking down.

"I'm taking the next turn off. I'll call you back when I'm set up somewhere."

"Make sure you do. Just... Be careful, old man."

Methos ended the call without answering her, probably cruel of him he knew, but the hitch in Siannon's voice had rendered him almost incapable of speech as it echoed the way he felt. He was lucky to find somewhere to pull over almost immediately after leaving the motorway and switched the engine off as he relaxed into the seat, trembling with reaction. Two survivors, only two... Shit. Shit. Shit.

The insistent warbling of his phone broke into his reverie and he was about to yell at Siannon for ringing him back unnecessarily when he noticed that the number was one he didn't recognise... with a Cardiff code. He grabbed the phone like it was a lifeline.

"Yes?" He answered cautiously, with heart in his mouth. Hoping... hoping.

"Methos." Ianto sounded battered and weary and Methos had never been so glad to hear it. He was alive, and that was the important thing.

"Ianto..." Methos couldn't manage to coerce his lips into forming another word, not even the other name he wanted to murmur like a verbal caress into the silence between them. Then he wondered if Ianto had heard anyway as a faint almost-whimper reached his ears.

Ianto regained his voice before Methos did.

"Tell me you aren't in Cardiff. Please," he begged. Methos was more than happy to tell the truth without evasion for a change.

"I'm near Reading."

"Oh thank god." There was muffled metallic sounding slither followed by a soft thump and a quiet yelp from Ianto.

"Ianto!"

"I'm OK. I'm OK – just some cuts and bruises."

Methos breathed a sigh of relief and finally found the voice to ask the question he'd been afraid to, not knowing what sort of answer he would receive.

"Jack?" He asked, realising that if he found it so difficult to ask, Ianto would find it more so to answer. Could he? If Ianto was brave enough to tell him, then he would damn well be brave enough to listen. His quickening shivered within him.

There was an unintelligible crackle from the phone, and a sigh from Ianto.

"Ground zero. They put the bomb inside him – he was... blown apart. I saw... I saw them pull him out. He wasn't... whole."

"Shit."

Methos had died in myriad ways in his 5000 years, but he had never been literally blown apart. He didn't think he could survive being blown apart. A sword wasn't the only way to remove someone's head from their shoulders; it was merely the most efficient.

Ianto ploughed on, his voice full of anxious optimism.

"Jack'll make it though, he's not like you. He said he could survive anything."

"I only hope he's right." And Methos did; he hoped with such fervency that it made his throat ache and his eyes burn. But there was another person in all this, and for all he might pretend not to care, he had to know about her, too. "Gwen?"

"She got out, but we were separated." There was another muffled sound that Methos couldn't make out, and Ianto's next words sounded almost breathless. "Look, I've got to go. Stay away, Methos. Promise me."

Ianto had never asked him for anything that he couldn't give, but the demand for that particular promise came very close, and Methos found himself wavering.

"I..."

"Methos. _**Please**_."

In the end it was that simple and there was no avoiding it.

"I promise," Methos whispered. "Now get out of there."

"I intend to." Methos couldn't help but smile at the hint of Ianto's understated stubbornness. "And...and I'll find Jack. For us both."

"Ianto..." The phone went dead – the call disconnected before Methos could say anything else – and he threw it away from him in disgust and despair, clinging onto the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hadn't meant to fall quite so far or so fast – he never did – but he had, and now he was living with the consequences. Methos let his head sink down between his hands until it was resting on the central part of the steering wheel and took deep shuddering breaths that were only half a step away from sobbing.

*

As the Vectra swung around the last corner into the base of the quarry Ianto thought he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of a very much alive and kicking Jack Harkness, even clad as he was in nothing except concrete dust and chains. It made all the lies, all the deceit and all the _**heartache**_ of the day pale into insignificance and Ianto knew he'd do the same and more all over again if he had to. It was Jack, and there was no way Ianto would ever give up on him, not while there was breath in his body. The helpless fury that had raged through Ianto as he'd watched Jack encased in his concrete prison had now abated into a quieter but no less powerful joy and he didn't even try to hide the smile on his face as he clambered out of the car. Jack was alive and whole; truly a sight for sore eyes. Ianto breathed a sigh of relief and whispered a silent and heartfelt thank-you to the god he wasn't sure he believed in any more.

He'd been half afraid to hope, despite Jack saying he could survive anything, but what Jack had laughingly called - on more than one occasion - his good old Welsh stubbornness had paid off. With dividends. Ianto had never been so glad of his stubborn streak in his life; this time the relief that he'd succeeded felt pure and honest, unsullied by the acrid taste of betrayal.

Jack for his part, seemed determined to at least try to maintain the semblance of professionalism despite his current lack of attire; there were no words of thanks, just concern about the situation. Ianto said nothing and allowed Jack the physical distance, but the look he received as Jack limped past him, Rhys' jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, was heavy with a plethora of unexpressed emotion. Ianto closed his eyes briefly as his next breath shuddered through him in response, then silently made his own way to the car and the next step in their perilous dance for survival.

*

The evening sunlight was pouring through the windows of the hotel bar, making the dust motes sparkle, when Methos felt the long expected whisper of immortal presence along his nerves. The door banged open and the sound of urgent footsteps echoed weirdly in the still air, coming to a halt next to him. He didn't look up, or acknowledge Siannon's presence in any way, until she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. So much was conveyed in that simple gesture that to continue ignoring her would have been rude to say the least as well as needlessly cruel, and he didn't want to be that person, not any more. The hand that wasn't wrapped around his drink found its way to lie over hers, and return the clasp. She kissed his temple, and he briefly rested his cheek against their joined hands. He let his hand fall, and the comforting weight of hers lifted from his shoulder; the important things all said in those fleeting touches. Silently, she reached over the bar to grab an empty glass and settled herself onto the seat beside him. Methos poured a generous slug of whisky from the bottle in front of him into both their glasses. There wasn't much left in the bottle even though it had been full when he'd started drinking, and he still felt distressingly almost-sober. He knocked back another mouthful; maybe now he had company he would be able to find some oblivion in the alcohol even if it hadn't yet worked for him. He rolled the glass between his hands, watching the movement of the amber liquid as it slopped against the side with each turn. He could feel her gaze boring into him, but he didn't raise his head, just concentrated on the glass in his hands. In return she said nothing, but the quality of her silence weighed on him, asking him to speak without ever uttering a single word. In the end, he complied; it seemed appropriate.

"Time was I could live quite happily without thinking about what passes for life in the so-called real world. It didn't affect me, it wasn't _**my**_ life and I had no interest in it beyond the academic. Sometimes I wonder when that changed, why it changed and the answer is always the same; people. Wonderful, stubborn, beautiful, foolish, terrifying people. My major weakness."

"And your greatest strength," Siannon murmured.

At that, he did raise his head, and gave her a twisted smile as he met her eyes.

"You would say that."

She put her glass down with a thump, hard enough for the whisky to slosh over the side. Methos winced; if she was being that careless about what was actually a pretty decent whisky she was more distraught – and possibly angrier - than he'd initially thought. He hoped if it was anger, that it wasn't directed at him; he didn't have the strength or the inclination to deal with it.

"Because it's true, Methos," she hissed. "It's what makes you human - it's what makes us _**all**_ human."

Methos sighed. It wasn't just anger colouring her voice, it was frustration, futility and pain. He knew the bitter taste of that.

"Maybe I don't want to be human any longer," he whispered, as he turned away from her once more. The weight of her hand on his face and in his hair was unexpected, her touch soothing. He closed his eyes as some of the tension left his body with the gentle brush of her fingers.

"I don't believe that for a minute," she said, her voice as gentle as her touch, but still insistent. "If it was true you wouldn't be trying to bury yourself at the bottom of a bottle in an effort to avoid feeling powerless."

"You see too much."

Her hand drifted down across his neck, a hint of her quickening tingling against his skin, before she withdrew. It was a reminder of who – and what – they were.

"I know you, Methos, and I know that feeling well... Far too well – especially now."

This time he reached for her, their fingers tangling where they rested on the bar, trying to ensure she knew that he understood everything neither of them could say.

"Bloody Torchwood," Methos snarled under his breath.

"Yeah. Bloody Torchwood." Siannon raised her glass and clinked it against his. It was an odd sort of toast, but it covered everything Methos felt – the helplessness, the hope and the fear. He wasn't bothered about the political manoeuvring he knew would be going on behind closed doors as the rise and fall of governments was just background noise in his life, but he was bothered by how it was affecting those he cared about. The fact that there were people he cared about – who he _**loved**_ if he was honest with himself – and who cared about him, stuck in the middle of the whole crazy situation made it personal, and so much more difficult to bear. Methos hadn't done 'personal' like this for a long time and he'd forgotten how much it hurt.

*

Twilight was drawing in with a vengeance when Gwen pulled the Vectra in to a service station. It was fairly busy and Ianto hoped that would give them relative anonymity as they made the brief but essential stop on their way to what he hoped would be safety. Even the fear that their destination might not be the haven they needed could not put the dampers on the joy that he felt to have Jack next to him in the car alive and well, or as well as he could be in Rhys' spare clothes and a pair of stolen shoes. He was also glad that Jack had seemed content to let him cling to his hand during their journey without making a comment about it, though Ianto suspected he was just glad of the human contact – Jack had been hanging onto him almost as tightly. They'd sat in near silence, communicating only with the odd glance and the gentle brush of a thumb over their clasped hands when speaking hadn't been necessary. Ianto hadn't pushed for more, he hadn't felt he could find the words to express how he felt, never mind say them with Rhys and Gwen listening

Jack and Gwen stayed in the car as Rhys jumped out to refuel it. They all kept their heads down, trying to avoid the inevitable CCTV. Ianto had his own target as he made his way across the forecourt – the phone box at the side of the shop. Sensible or not, he _had_ to let Methos know they were out of harm's way for the time being. Jack hadn't argued against the suggestion when Ianto had broached the subject, the look in his eyes giving Ianto all the encouragement he needed. Ianto wished he dared to ask for Methos' help, but he couldn't afford that risk; he and Jack both needed to know that the immortal was safe. Methos was their lifeline and he – unlike Jack – wasn't completely indestructible. Despite that need, Ianto shuddered to think about what must be going through Methos' head and hoped that he wasn't alone as the waiting would otherwise be intolerable. The phone box lured him with its siren song of promised anonymity and Ianto found his steps quickening; he was desperate to hear Methos' voice and to know that he at least was safe amidst all the chaos and destruction.

*

The phone rested on the table between Methos and Siannon, an unwelcome and silent witness to the fact that neither of them had any idea what was truly going on and whether Ianto and the others were still alive. The radio and TV were rife with speculation, but had nothing concrete to say on the matter. Both had been switched off to save them being destroyed by either blade or gun and the hotel staff were sensibly staying away except when called upon. The original whisky bottle stood forlorn and empty and they'd made inroads on a second, though at present their glasses stood empty.

"We should try to get some sleep," Siannon said. Her eyes were burning with fatigue and Methos didn't look any better than she felt.

"Do you really think you could? If you do you're more of an optimist than I am."

Siannon had to admit he had a point. Despite the fact that she needed sleep, wanted sleep, she knew it would likely prove elusive. The demons of 'what if' would be unwilling to let her rest and her imagination would provide the rest. She shuddered to think how much worse it would be for Methos; Ianto was only her friend – albeit almost as close as family – and Jack was... _Jack_ , he didn't fit into definitions easily. To Methos they were more than that, so much more. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment against the pain she felt for her oldest friend. She would stay, and keep vigil with him; it was the least she could do. He'd done the same for her before, as she had for him, and they no doubt would again in the future but this time the waiting was all the more painful because of the thread of hope that Jack's very existence offered.

The phone shrilled, almost vibrating off the table before Methos grabbed it, meeting Siannon's eyes with ill concealed hope. She gave him a tight smile and raised her crossed fingers, offering a silent prayer to any deity that might be watching.

The first words Methos said, after his near-barked 'yes?' gave her the answer.

"Ianto... _**Ianto**_..."

*

Ianto cradled the receiver for a moment, as if he was literally holding Methos in his arms, and then carefully replaced it. He glanced around; Rhys was crossing the forecourt to pay for the petrol which meant it was time for Ianto to get back to the car. He wished he'd been able to spend more time on the phone, to give Methos more than the terse reassurance that they were alive, and safe for now. The best thing to come out of the brief conversation was the knowledge that Methos wasn't alone. Maybe now Jack would be able to rest, maybe they both would. Somehow Ianto doubted it, even with Gwen and Rhys determinedly sharing the driving with each other. He slid into the back seat next to Jack once more, and met his eyes. There was no way he could avoid answering the unspoken question, not when he so desperately needed to share the news anyway.

"He's OK. Siannon's with him." Jack reached out and took Ianto's hand in trembling fingers, and gently kissed his knuckles.

"Thank you," he whispered. Jack didn't let go of Ianto's hand, though Ianto noticed that the trembling had eased somewhat. With a sigh of relief Ianto settled back into the cocoon of silence that enfolded them with a lighter heart. Jack was at his side, Methos was safe, and Ianto felt that almost anything was possible, no matter that the odds were stacked against them.

*

Methos clutched his phone in both hands, his breath coming in stuttering gasps. He had no idea what the next day would bring but he had all he could hope for at present – Jack and Ianto both alive and relatively safe. A warm pair of hands wrapped around his, prying the phone from his fingers and pressing a glass into them instead.

"Good news or not, you look like you could do with a drink. And I know I could do with one," Siannon commented.

"Thanks," he replied, taking a grateful sip of the whisky, concentrating on the warmth it spread through his body.

"So what do we do now?"

"What you suggested earlier – get some sleep. I think we should be able to now." He raised his head and met her eyes over the whisky glass, she nodded faintly in agreement. "Then tomorrow I'm going back into London. If there is anything I can do it will be easier to do it from there." He took a deep breath, and then added almost offhandedly, "You can come with me if you want."

"I want. I'll follow in my own car, though."

"Probably for the best," Methos agreed. He was glad Siannon knew him well enough to take what he offered and yet still give him the breathing space he needed without being prompted; it was balm to his frayed nerves. There were some people – immortal and otherwise – who he would not have been able to deal with in his present state of mind. As if she'd read his thoughts, Siannon stood up, one hand resting on his shoulder for a moment.

"I'm away to my bed, then. Remember, if you hear anything, you get me. Don't even _**think**_ of leaving without me," she said. Methos twisted in his seat to smile up at her.

"I won't." He was surprised to realise that he actually meant it. He didn't want to leave without her; obviously the presence of a friend who understood was more of a comfort than he'd thought it would be.

"Oíche mhaith, Methos." She leant down to brush a chaste kiss across his forehead and swept out. He finished his drink, but grabbed the half-full bottle of whisky to take up with him – he suspected he'd need it before he could sleep.

*

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Children of Earth Day 3: _~ No time to run and hide ~_

 

*

  
Ianto was pleased that the old Torchwood One factory/warehouse in Battersea was more or less intact and secure after its long years of neglect. Like so many other things it had been forgotten in the aftermath of Canary Wharf; he was just glad it was a place that didn't have any associations with Lisa as even now he wouldn't have been able to tolerate staying if it did – his post Canary Wharf memories weren't good ones and he'd tried to forget that time as much as he possibly could without retcon. He wasn't pleased that Jack seemed to be turning in on himself, withdrawing from the contact they'd established in the journey to London but he wasn't sure enough of himself to push too hard. Every time he considered it he couldn't get past the memory of Jack in pieces and if _he_ felt like that, how much worse must it have been for Jack growing back painfully cell by cell? Ianto shuddered, and let Jack have his space, even though it hurt to have him sit as far away as possible as the size of the ratty old settee allowed; he knew it was time for Jack to be the Captain, and not the man. Knowing it and feeling it were entirely different things however, and he felt downright unappreciated for all the work that he'd put in to get them this far and it came to something when _**Rhys**_ was the only one who seemed prepared to make a go of it. He berated himself silently for having such feelings, the oh so familiar guilt about not being good enough coursing through him in an unwelcome tide.

Ianto gave Jack a sidelong glance; he could swear the man was trying to create more friction between them all with every word out of his mouth, something that was confirmed by the little smirk on Jack's face after he very carefully made sure that Rhys was aware that they'd known of Gwen's pregnancy first. Great. Bloody Great. Just when Ianto thought he was beginning to make some inroads into understanding the complexity that was Jack, there was another twist, another turn and he was reminded that he barely knew the man at all, no matter how he felt about him. He sighed; it was just his luck to be involved with possibly the two most enigmatic people on the planet, but then he'd never made things easy for himself. At least he had a handle on what made Methos tick, even if he didn't always understand the guy, but Jack seemed so alien at times that he doubted he'd ever manage it, even if he lived to a ripe old age. With a last glance at Jack, Ianto scrambled upright, he had to move, had to do something or else he'd go mad and that wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself.

Later, as Ianto perched on the stairs watching everyone carefully avoid each other, he chanced a brief call to Mac who lived over the road from Rhiannon. He couldn't ring her, he knew the line would be bugged, but if he kept the call short he hoped that whoever was searching for them wouldn't notice his phone being used. It was a risk, but one that Ianto deemed was worth it; he had to let Rhi know he was alive as she, Johnny and the kids were all the family he had left apart from Torchwood.

*

Methos woke with a mouth that tasted of sawdust but no other ill effects from his alcoholic over indulgence the night before. He'd slept better than he'd expected but his body sometimes helpfully looked after itself like that when his mind was distracted; it was one of the things that had given him the edge in surviving when others didn't. He didn't _**feel**_ any better, but at least he knew he was physically ready for the day ahead. He padded into the shower to wake himself up the rest of the way and avoided switching on the television – he had no desire to listen to the lies the politicians were making up about the current situation, he'd probably heard them all before at some time or another. All he wanted was for it all to be over so he could get on with living, preferably as a continuing thorn in the side of Jack and Ianto. He squashed any other thoughts of his two lovers brutally, he didn't have the time to indulge himself and he didn't want his body getting ideas to the contrary.

He was more than prepared to leave immediately, but Siannon mother-henned him into having a cup of coffee and some breakfast first. He capitulated just to shut her up; he wasn't in the mood for her nagging and he knew from experience just how much she could go on if she was so inclined. Going by the smile she tried to hide behind her teacup, she was more than aware of the fact. Methos hid a smile of his own; despite everything, it was good to have her company.

Before much more time had passed, he was back in his car and heading towards London again. This time he at least made the effort to try and obey the speed limit even if he didn't always succeed, Siannon's Renault an ever present image in his rear view mirror to remind him.

*

Though initially somewhat nonplussed by Gwen's comment about being criminals, Ianto had to stop his almost semi-automatic eyeroll as she elaborated further and he saw the grin spread over Jack's face. Jack may not be a conman any more but Ianto was sure he'd got himself away free and clear when he was from a lot worse than the Cardiff constabulary but if Gwen didn't know, Ianto wasn't going to take it upon himself to enlighten her. As for Jack, he obviously still enjoyed the thrill of being one step ahead of the law. Ianto also had no idea if Gwen had read his file but even if she had that lone shoplifting conviction wasn't really an accurate reflection of how he'd spent a chunk of his life when he was younger. What it had been was the kick up the backside he'd needed in order to start turning his life around but Gwen of course was blissfully unaware of this. Rhys seemed to be unopposed to the idea of walking on the other side of the fence – another good mark on his side as far as Ianto was concerned – so Ianto began to make a mental list of what they needed and what _**he**_ thought might be useful. Partway through his lists he realised he would probably end up spending longer than the others away from their temporary home. Chasing quickly on the tail of that thought came another... Ianto glanced at Jack again – he was still wearing his 'Captain' face – and came to a decision that would at least be beneficial to him and at best also would benefit Jack, and therefore all of them. First he would need a new phone, there was no way he was going to risk using his current one to make _**this**_ call.

Ianto drew a strange sort of enjoyment out of their 'criminal' efforts, even more so when he got to swing a few friendly punches at Rhys but at the end of the day it had gained them some useful items and that was the important thing.

After Gwen and Rhys had left him to take the laptops back to the warehouse and Jack had disappeared goodness only knows where, Ianto took the cracked credit card and bought himself a pay as you go phone that conveniently used the same battery as his own. He ensconced himself in the relative privacy of a shadowed doorway to make the call, hoping that Methos had returned to his flat and wasn't still in Reading; if he was, the plan would come to nothing.

It was no surprise when Methos picked the phone up in his usual terse manner, but that changed when Ianto announced himself and the relief he heard in the immortals voice was almost palpable. Ianto allowed himself the luxury of immersing himself in the pleasure of just hearing Methos speak before he got down to business.

"Are you back home, now?" Ianto eventually asked.

"At the moment, yes." Methos' tone implied that he'd change that at a moments notice with no problem, something that Ianto had been hoping for, but had not wanted to assume.

"I need you to do me a favour," he said.

"Name it."

Ianto hadn't expected blind agreement; he doubted that Methos had done that in more years than Jack had been alive, but he was pleased with the response. He began to elaborate,

"We need supplies. I can deal with the mundane things, plus clothes for the rest of us, but I want to replace Jack's coat at least if I can and I don't know of any army surplus places around here..."

"Leave it with me," Methos interjected. "I know someone on Portobello Road who will probably have what's needed."

Ianto sagged against the brickwork as the tension ran out of him; he'd been fairly certain that Methos would be able to help but he hadn't realised just how much he'd counted on it.

"Thank you. I know Jack will appreciate it. He's... not quite back to being himself yet."

"And you want to do what you can. I understand. Whereabouts are you?"

Ianto reeled off the name of a road not too far from his current position and where he'd spotted a couple of potential places for a meeting away from the possible eyes on the street.

"I know it. I'll be there soon."

As Methos cut the call, Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. Although his ulterior motive had been to try and find something more suitable for Jack than his current attire – he'd had a point, tracksuit bottoms weren't a good look on him – what Ianto had so desperately craved was to see Methos. Maybe it was selfish of him not to involve Jack, but he needed to see Methos alone and he'd been taught by the old guy himself that a little selfishness wasn't necessarily a bad thing, not in a relationship with two immortals anyway. With that thought in mind, Ianto stepped out of the doorway and made his way to the agreed street; the places he needed to drop into on the way already mapped out in his head. By the time Methos arrived his acquisitions would be complete.

*

Siannon watched the door close behind Methos and threw herself down on the sofa with a woosh of expelled breath. Much as she wanted to go with him to reassure herself that Ianto really was OK, she'd kept her mouth tight shut on the request. She'd recognised the look in Methos' eyes, even if he had not acknowledged the thought; he was going to say goodbye to Ianto. There was no way on earth she would let her presence interfere with that; there was no doubt that if Methos had wanted her company he would have asked for it. She hoped with all her heart that it would only be a temporary goodbye and that they would all be able to look back on these days with a sense of amused disbelief, much as they did with the other things Torchwood had thrown at them. Siannon wrapped her arms around herself as a finger of cold foreboding ran down her spine; more than anything she wanted to be optimistic but the situation appeared to be increasingly grim and though she hoped that Ianto - and Gwen and Rhys - survived unharmed she couldn't quiet the insidious whisper that implied it was a futile hope.

*

Methos chuckled as he spotted the place where Ianto had suggested they meet. It was a small, good quality, non-chain coffee shop – the sort that Ianto always seemed to able to find without trying, jokingly referring to the ability as having a coffee radar. He stepped through the door and into the reassuring dimness beyond, scanning the area for his objective. Ianto was on a sofa in the corner that looked like it offered a decent view of the whole shop although it was also the furthest from the door, a selection of bags stacked neatly beside him. Methos approved of his caution, though it didn't surprise him; Ianto looked wary and on edge. Not for the first time, Methos silently cursed Torchwood for what it did to people. As he moved closer the wary look lifted from Ianto's eyes and a smile lit his face. Methos couldn't help but smile in return, and was still smiling as he bent down to press a heartfelt kiss to Ianto's lips before he slithered into the seat next to him, biting back the grin that threatened to escape as he took in Ianto's slightly startled but appreciative expression; he obviously hadn't expected such an enthusiastic greeting, not in such a public place at least. Methos decided he'd best give Ianto some sort of explanation and felt that the unvarnished truth was the only thing that would do.

"I've missed you, and I'm glad you're alive," he said simply. Ianto reached for his hand while giving him the shy and sweet smile that never failed to kick Methos in the guts, and should probably be counted as an offensive weapon. It was probably just as well that Ianto only ever seemed to use it on him and Jack, with often devastating effect. Ianto broke eye contact first, though he didn't relinquish his hold on Methos' hand about which Methos was inordinately pleased – he didn't want to lose the contact. Ianto glanced down at their joined hands with a quirk of his lips, then back up at Methos, still smiling even though it had become a little twisted around the edges

"Funnily enough, I'm glad I'm alive too," he said and though he didn't return the 'I've missed you' Methos heard it nonetheless. Considering that everything seemed to be falling apart with great rapidity, Ianto was taking a chance in meeting with him, and Methos was selfishly glad of that fact. He leaned forward to pick up the coffee that was waiting on his side of the table and took a sip; it was actually pretty good, though he still preferred Ianto's, something of which Ianto was only too well aware judging by the faint smile hovering on his lips. Methos settled back into the cushions of the sofa, coffee in one hand, Ianto's fingers clasped in the other – he wasn't letting Ianto go until he had to.

"Any idea who ordered the Hub destroyed? Or why?" Methos tried to make his tone as light and conversational as possible – he didn't want to give anyone with over curious ears any cues that there was something potentially earth-shattering being discussed between the two guys on the sofa at the back of the coffee shop, though he doubted anyone would understand the actual words; Welsh was not exactly widely spoken in London after all. "Considering what you do for Cardiff I wouldn't have expected you to be declared anathema to the extent where they wanted you 'neutralised' even if you are considered dangerous." Methos almost snorted as he said that – they were considered dangerous for the very good reason that they _**were**_ dangerous, just not in the way that most people expected.

Ianto sighed, and took a sip of his own drink. Methos reflected that it was a sound so full of world-weariness and acceptance it should be way too old to be coming from someone of Ianto's age – but that was Torchwood for you; you were old before your time, in some cases literally.

"The 'who' is the government, or more accurately another branch of the civil service," Ianto said.

"The Hub was blown up by civil servants?" Methos couldn't help the irreverent image of men in bad suits wearing glasses and waving big guns that surfaced in his head, and shook it to clear it; bad humour was unlikely to help in this situation, even if under normal circumstances Ianto would appreciate it.

"Hey, Torchwood is nominally part of the civil service…" Ianto protested, then added, somewhat sheepishly, "but, yes, it seems that way."

"And you're sure UNIT wasn't involved?" Methos asked; he knew that Torchwood and UNIT were sometimes at odds with each other, but couldn't imagine the military organisation willingly being involved in something as underhanded as the attempted destruction of Torchwood Cardiff and all its personnel.

"Not as far as we can tell. Our contact on the inside of UNIT was out of the country when everything went to hell and we daren't attempt to reach her now – she'll be under surveillance at the least. Same probably goes for the other people who might be able to help. We can't put them at risk if they aren't already; we're on our own." Methos squeezed Ianto's hand a little, just to remind him that they weren't quite on their own, even if he wasn't exactly an army. Ianto returned the gesture, and gave Methos a small but thankful smile in acknowledgement.

"I presume the why is something to do with the children?"

"We think so, but right now we aren't exactly in position to confirm that. We're working on that, though." Ianto patted the laptop on the seat beside him. Methos didn't miss the pleased near-smirk that flitted across Ianto's face. He grinned in response.

"You've been making acquisitions, then?" He asked. Methos was fairly certain he knew more about Ianto's somewhat chequered background than most people apart from Jack, but then Ianto knew more about him so there was a kind of symmetry to it all.

"Just a few. Which reminds me…" Ianto didn't need to ask the question for Methos to hear it, but he did need to hear the answer.

"It's in the car," Methos said. He'd been lucky that his friend on Portobello had been able to supply everything, including the right sort of boots, and wrap it into one tidy package.

"Thank you," Ianto murmured.

"I wish there was more I could do to help." For all his apparent ducking of responsibilities at times and his determination to survive, Methos meant every word. What he really wanted was to disappear off somewhere with Ianto and Jack and surface when someone else had sorted the problem out, but he knew that wasn't an option, not with those two. And if he couldn't disappear then it seemed stupid not to use certain of his abilities.

"I know, but…"

Methos cut Ianto off with a gesture.

"Ianto, I'm immortal and I've been around for a long time..." Methos found himself being interrupted in turn.

"But you're not indestructible. Jack needs – hell, _**I**_ need – to know you're not part of this mess," Ianto said, his voice almost trembling with barely restrained vehemence.

Methos sighed, he'd encountered Ianto's steadfast determination before and there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do to dissuade him from a path once he'd decided to take it but he had nothing to lose by trying, and a hell of a lot to gain.

"There's only the three of you up against people who obviously have no scruples," Methos said blandly.

"Four. There's Rhys."

"Four then." Methos fought the urge to roll his eyes in a way that Ianto would find way too familiar. "But Rhys isn't Torchwood and even if he was, the power of Torchwood wasn't enough to prevent you all nearly being killed. Do you really think you can make a difference when you've got none of that power behind you?"

Silence stretched between them - dark, heavy, emotion laden silence. They stared at each other, fingers still firmly tangled together. Methos swallowed, mentally kicking himself for pushing too hard. He hadn't meant to, but where Ianto was concerned he'd found himself doing a lot of things he hadn't meant to so what was one more to worry about? He suspected Ianto's answer would be painful to say the least.

"We've got to try. If we don't, who will?" Ianto said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Shit. To him it probably was, and all Methos could do was bite his lip to hold back the retort he wanted to give and let Ianto carry on. "Jack changed the way Torchwood worked in Cardiff so we were there to protect people as much as anything else and we can't stop doing that now even if we're trying to protect them from their own. If anything it's more important now than it ever was. And Torchwood was never just the Hub; it's the people as well. Jack _**is**_ Torchwood, and we've got make sure he stays that way." Ianto's impassioned tumble of words ceased and Methos sighed, closing his eyes to get away from the accusing blue glare of Ianto's. He still didn't let go of Ianto's hand, though.

"Where the hell did I go wrong?" He whispered, almost to himself. "I can't seem to escape from twice-damned bloody heroes!"

"We're not heroes; we're just doing our job." Ianto sounded so genuinely puzzled that Methos couldn't help the disbelieving snort that escaped. He decided to elaborate.

"Ianto, people walk away from 'jobs'. You don't walk away from Torchwood, not intact anyway. Even I know that."

"And you think I don't? None of us are whole, Methos, not even Jack – especially not Jack – but Torchwood gives us something more to live for; it's like family."

"I'm quite aware of that – I even understand – but it doesn't mean I have to like it! Torchwood was there before Jack and the rest of you and it will be there after; _**you**_ won't be."

And there it was, out in the open – Methos' entire motivation for his behaviour – he doubted it would make a difference but at least he couldn't be accused of holding things back this time.

"That doesn't change anything," Ianto said gently.

"I didn't think it would, but it had to be said. I just wish… Oh never mind. You always were Torchwood's first and foremost, you always will be." Methos took a deep breath and let it out noisily. Another. Damn bloody intransigent mortals getting under his skin until he cared too much.

"Would you want me to be any different?" Ianto asked quietly, carefully avoiding Methos' searching glance. Methos decided he might as well continue being honest, it seemed to be the day for it.

"If you were different you wouldn't be you, so no." 'No matter how much it hurts,' he added silently to himself. Ianto probably already knew that.

"Part of my charm, then?" Ianto asked with a raised eyebrow as he took his turn to lighten the mood between them, which made Methos smile.

"You've been around Jack too much."

"Then when this is over you should remedy that. Spend some time with us."

Such simple, gentle, heartfelt words and yet Methos found himself almost fighting back tears. If they all still lived when this was over he wouldn't just spend time with them, they wouldn't be able to get rid of him. Ever. Maybe he would join Torchwood just to keep an eye on the two of them and to enjoy every moment possible with them both. Somehow he didn't think he'd get the chance. No matter what he thought might happen, it didn't change how truly he wanted, and meant, the answer he gave Ianto.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure, Ianto Emrys Jones."

"I'll hold you to that."

Methos raised Ianto's hand to his lips, and kissed his fingers gently.

"See that you do."

*

Ianto watched the Jaguar XK8 disappear into the distance, Methos' last kiss still tingling on his lips from the touch of Quickening that had been put into it, then he hefted the parcels and bags and started walking the rest of the way to Torchwood Cardiff's temporary London home. He knew Methos would have been more than happy to take him to the door, but Ianto had preferred that he didn't know exactly where they were staying as what he didn't know couldn't be forced out of him. He was somewhat surprised by the rather swanky Porsche Boxter S parked next to Johnny's Vectra, decided it must have been Jack who picked that up - it was the sort of thing he would do - and was still trying to hide his smile at that thought as he entered the warehouse. They'd obviously managed to get the electricity up and running while he was gone and though the light didn't make the place exactly welcoming, it was certainly less inhospitable. He was also faintly amused that it was Jack who chewed him out for being gone longer than expected; he had thought it would most likely be Gwen going by how Jack had been before they set out. They all changed their tune when they found out just what his 'essentials' included, especially the clothes, but the reaction he really wanted to see was Jack's to the bulky, paper-wrapped parcel that Methos had given him. He walked toward Jack, parcel in hand, unable to keep the smile from his eyes, though he thought he'd mostly succeeded in keeping it off his face.

"And for you, sir… Army surplus Special."

And unless Jack asked, Ianto wouldn't tell him just how special it was either. Whether he did or not, Jack's reaction was everything he'd hoped for, the flicker of hope and anticipation in his eyes as Ianto moved closer coalescing into a pleased and almost shocked grin as Ianto handed the package over.

"Oh, you're kidding me?!" Jack exclaimed. Ianto knew his answering smile was more than part smirk, but at that point he didn't really care. He raised his hands as if to say 'all part of the service' and took a step back, not missing the glint of something else in Jack's eyes as he did so. Jack knew, or at least suspected, where - or rather with whom - Ianto had been but wasn't going to question it and for that, Ianto would be eternally grateful.

Ianto knew he'd made the right decision to involve Methos when Jack rejoined them by the fire looking very much himself again. Part of it was illusion, Ianto was well aware of that, but if having the familiar armour of a half-decent suit on his back affected him, then how much would the familiar trappings of coat and braces and boots – not to mention the rest of the clothes – mean to Jack. The coat was _**him**_ in a way that transcended the fact that it was merely a garment, an item to keep you warm. On Jack the coat was not just a coat, it was a badge of honour.

Despite the fact that they all seemed to feel ready to face whatever the government and the unknown aliens might throw at them, Ianto had to suppress a smile that it needed a less than subtle reminder from Rhys to get them moving. If he also felt a stab of envy for Rhys' wish for the return of a normal life he paid it no mind; Ianto had given up on normal so many times it was beyond count, right back to when he first saw the lightning of an immortal Quickening in a place he was not supposed to know about, never mind actually being there.

The three of them settled into work mode easily with Rhys an unobtrusive presence in the background which amused Ianto no end. However, he wasn't amused by the fact that his mind wouldn't move as fast as he wanted it to, seeming to be determined to linger on thoughts of Methos and Jack and wondering what it must have been like for Jack to resurrect slowly, only to be killed again possibly just as slowly – it was a hell of a time for his morbid curiosity to decide to surface. It was a welcome distraction when Gwen had her idea about using the contacts and actually asked him a concrete question. It was something he could answer and it diverted him from the unpleasant spiral his in which mind had inexplicably got caught. It also meant he felt like they were actually doing something instead of floundering around in the dark.

Later, with Gwen despatched to intercept Lois Habiba with the Torchwood contact lenses – the logical choice seeing as Lois had only met her and Rhys – the warehouse seemed a lot emptier. It was easy for Ianto to almost forget that Rhys was still there, puttering away behind them. Jack was concentrating on the Whitehall files, musing aloud as he read.

"Frobisher's the key to this. He's just a civil servant, he's nothing. What makes him start authorising executions?"

Ianto knew he should be listening, offering an opinion but he found he couldn't, found he didn't actually care at that point. Jack was so much there - alive, filling his senses, driving him to distraction by merely breathing - to the extent that Ianto couldn't concentrate. It wasn't helped by the endless and macabre game of chase the thoughts of death, resurrection and Jack were playing in his head. He knew that if he didn't bite the bullet now, no matter how inappropriate it was, he never would.

"What did it feel like? I mean, getting blown up," Ianto asked.

"It wasn't the best of days."

Jack's answer was too flip for Ianto's current state of mind – he realised that Jack probably didn't want to dwell on it, but he had to know more, with a need that was verging on irrational and surprised him with its intensity.

"No, but... did you feel it?" Ianto's breath almost caught in his chest as Jack turned to face him, the look in his eyes acknowledged that while he didn't understand _**why**_ the hell Ianto needed to know this – not now – he was prepared to answer. Ianto continued, "Or did everything just go black?"

"I felt it."

"Shit." Ianto turned away with a shudder, he honestly hadn't expected that. He couldn't begin to imagine how horrible it must have been.

"Yeah," Jack agreed.

Ianto knew he really should leave it there, but if Jack really was prepared to give an answer to things he would usually brush off there was no way Ianto could leave it, not when he had so many questions, not when there was so much he didn't understand about Jack.

"Do you ever think that, one day, your luck'll run out? That you won't come back."

Jack turned to face him, but didn't quite meet Ianto's eyes.

"I'm a fixed point in time and space," he said. "That's what the Doctor says." He paused; Ianto hardly dared to breathe in case he shattered the moment, and waited for Jack to continue, their eyes finally catching and holding each other. The expression on Jack's face was almost too much for Ianto to bear. "I think that means it's forever."

"So... one day, you'll see me die…" Ianto decided he was going to be optimistic and added a bit of wishful thinking, "….of old age... And just keep going." He nodded slightly; that was the way he'd like it to go as right now the thought of growing old with Jack was one of the most comforting thoughts he'd had all day. Jack going on without him was something he'd known would happen for a long time, though he didn't usually think about it.

Jack gave him a twisted little smile.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"We better make the most of it, then," Ianto commented matter-of-factly, a brief smile flickering across his face.

"Suppose." Jack's own smile became wider, and a lot less twisted before he turned away.

Ianto continued to gaze at him, wondering if he could really get away with saying what he wanted, before deciding that he had nothing to lose. Carpe Diem was such a good expression…

"Like right now?"

"Ianto, the world could be ending." Jack looked like he didn't know whether to be pleased or surprised – or more likely it was a mixture of both. For a moment Ianto was reminded of Owen and his views on what to do if the world was ending.

"World's always ending," Ianto murmured. "And I have missed that coat."

Jack turned away with a splutter of half-realised laughter, then seemed to decide that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all and turned in his chair to face Rhys.

"Rhys, do you want to take the car and go to those shops, down by the Wharf? We need some disks for these things. Should take about... 20 minutes?"

Twenty minutes? Yeah, right. If they could get rid of Rhys, Ianto wanted longer than that, not much longer though or he'd be worrying.

"30 minutes," he corrected.

"30," Jack added.

"I'll go later, the beans are almost done!" Rhys said, sounding as if he thought that was the best thing in the entire world. Ianto rolled his eyes. Of course they were almost done, right when he didn't want them to be.

"The beans are almost done," Jack said blandly.

"Bloody beans," Ianto growled. He'd give Rhys beans – preferably all over his head with a whack from the pan for good measure – it might knock some sensitivity into his thick skull. He was all set to turn back around and tell Rhys to get the hell out or he wouldn't be responsible for the consequences when Jack stepped over to stand behind him, his hand warm and vibrant on Ianto's shoulder, even through the layers of the suit. Ianto swivelled to look up at him, question and challenge vying for puzzled supremacy in his mind and no doubt showing in his eyes. Jack gave him a lop-sided and kind of discomforted shrug.

"I've probably had too many deaths for le petit mort anyway. Leave it."

"But I…" There were too many things to say, too many reasons why Ianto didn't need exactly _**that**_ from Jack, but did need time with him and somehow he couldn't articulate any of it. He clenched his hands in frustration, fingernails digging into his palms. Jack's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"I know," Jack whispered. "I'll make it up to you when this is over." There was no spoken promise, but Ianto felt the kiss that followed Jack's words was promise enough. He threw himself into it heart and soul, trying to say everything he couldn't say aloud with his lips, teeth and tongue – if a kiss was all he could get then he was going to make the bloody most of it. He pulled away when he could no longer ignore the need to breathe and gave Jack a smile that was as full of promises as the kiss had been. Jack's fingers lingered on his face for a moment before he moved back to his chair, and Ianto could almost see him wrapping the 'Captain' round himself once more. Their eyes met, and Ianto gave him a business-like nod, indicating his understanding. As was sometimes the case, satisfying their needs – or his needs at least, Ianto mused somewhat glumly – was secondary to what Torchwood demanded; she was a harsh mistress. Ianto smothered his sigh of disappointment – he really had missed the coat – and resolutely focused on the screen in front of him. If Jack needed his archivist and researcher more than his lover, then that was what he would get; Ianto was perfectly capable of being professional, no matter what he really wanted. He sighed quietly as he brought up the next piece of software.

In virtually no time at all, Ianto was immersed in his work. He'd always gained a sense of Tosh's presence whenever he used any of the more complex programmes on the Torchwood server although he would have drawn an odd sort of pleasure from using any piece of such finely crafted software. Tosh had always seemed to glow whenever he complimented her work and he was convinced she'd taken extra care with anything he was likely to be using - a personal touch for her partner in computer geekdom. It felt good to know she was still with them in some way, even to saving their lives as she had done with the dalek and the time lock. He missed her and he always would, especially when he used something she'd written with him in mind.

He'd just discovered that Clement MacDonald had been arrested and was actually in London himself when Gwen rang. Luckily it didn't take much to convince her to spring him out of custody. A quick glance in Jack's direction as the call ended showed he was engrossed in the photo of Clement MacDonald on the laptop he was using. Ianto turned back to his own screen.

"So Ianto, what's his story?" Jack asked

Ianto flicked through the files, refreshing his memory as he told Jack the salient points so the sudden movement as Jack rose out of his chair and moved closer caught him by surprise.

"Show me those people." It wasn't a request, but Ianto hadn't followed Jack's train of thought and needed clarification.

"What people?" He queried.

"Andrew Staines, Ellen Hunt, Michael Sanders. The ones that were killed the same day as me."

Something was bothering Jack and Ianto had no idea what. He tried to gain a bit more information.

"Why, do you think there's a connection?"

"Show me!" Jack demanded brusquely. Ianto complied, still none the wiser as to what was going on in Jack's head, but becoming increasingly anxious as to the cause especially as he felt like he was being completely left in the dark. The images he called up onto the screen showed three people on the wrong side of 60 years old.

"No, no, give me their history, show me them 40 years ago."

"What for?" Ianto glanced at Jack - he still didn't understand, and he always preferred to know _**why**_ he was doing something. Jack glared at him.

"Just do it!"

A few keystrokes later and Tosh's software obliged with images of the 3 of them as they must have appeared in the 1960s. Jack stared at the screen as if he'd just discovered something shocking.

"Who are they, Jack? Did you know them?" Ianto asked carefully – he was getting steadily more worried.

"I never knew their names."

"Who were they?" He was still getting no answer so Ianto decided to push a little more. "Jack, tell me. Did you know them?"

Jack's only response was to grab his coat and head for the door.  
"Jack!" Ianto called after the retreating figure, trying to demand an explanation. Jack didn't acknowledge him, and didn't look back. Ianto tried to not let it hurt, and failed. He sighed. Secrets, always more bloody secrets. Ianto doubted that he would discover even a tenth of them if he lived a full life and while some might say it added to Jack's mystique he found it was becoming downright tiresome to be reminded at every turn just how little he knew about the enigma that was Jack Harkness – and he was privy to things that Gwen wasn't. Still, Jack or no Jack, he had a job to do. He turned back to the computer.

*

Ianto and Rhys watched the news feeds with shared concern; Gwen still hadn't returned and with Jack gone they both felt the need to stick together. Rhys had gone up another notch in Ianto's estimation when he cottoned on that the kids were pointing at Britain and when Ianto realised _**precisely**_ where they were pointing to he took off for the roof with Rhys only a couple of steps behind him. Ianto was filled with gut-churning horror as he watched the pillar of alien fire descend on Thames House and judging by the death-grip Rhys had on him, he was feeling fairly terrified too. Now, more than ever, they needed Lois to use those contacts and he couldn't bring himself to share Gwen and Rhys' optimism that she would come through for them. He felt so useless having to rely on other people to do things when all he could do was watch. It was kind of ironic really, considering that Watching was what he'd intended to do with his life before Torchwood had got hooks into him, especially now when watching was no longer enough.

It was almost full dark by the time Gwen returned, and there still had been no news from Jack. Rhys seemed determined to make the best of things as he gently teased Clem and made sure they all had something hot to keep body and soul together. Ianto felt like a cat on hot bricks and couldn't understand how Rhys could be so calm, which was probably why he overreacted to Clem's 'queer' remark. He didn't miss the expression on Rhys' face after he tried to back-pedal with a comment about it not being 1965 any more either, and he came to the conclusion that Rhys and Gwen actually were perfect for each other, warts and all, even with the added complication of Torchwood and aliens. Ianto doubted he'd ever have perfect, but he at least wanted to have the chance to try, no matter how difficult it seemed at times and Jack's continued absence rankled on so many levels. He was able to put it out of his mind to a degree when the I5 software went live and he joined Rhys and Gwen in a huddle round the laptop, watching with bated breath as they finally saw what was on floor 13 of Thames House through Lois Habiba's eyes. The glimpses they had of the thing in the tank were disturbing enough for him, and Ianto shuddered to think what it must be like for her; yet she retained the presence of mind to capture the words of the 456 using shorthand. That was a development that made Ianto feel less useless, even if he was just as frustrated. Trust Jack to still be swanning off just when he was needed. Still, they'd coped without him before and they'd do their best now in just the same way.

Clem's uneasiness about 'The Man' unsettled them all, distracting them from what was being transmitted from Thames House, but Ianto hadn't expected his abject terror when Jack walked through the door, or the revelation that terror forced Jack to make. He felt for Clem, he really did, but concern for him became secondary to the swirling morass of emotion he'd become - disgust and disbelief and despair were all churning around inside him. He knew Jack's past was less than clean, he'd been around too long for that, but to find out something so important from another, as if it - or Ianto - hadn't been important enough to admit to, hurt. Then Clem's fright turned to fury and Ianto found himself hurting _**for**_ Jack as he stumbled through a useless apology, voice thick with remorse. He was already moving when Clem went for Gwen's gun, but he was too late and Jack died - again - with blood blooming across his chest from the gunshot. Ianto ignored the commotion around Clem - if Gwen and Rhys couldn't deal with him then they were all screwed anyway - and concentrated on Jack, falling to his knees beside him so he could heave the body into his arms. Jack might be going to live forever, but Ianto felt the same every time he died, he couldn't help it; couldn't help the fear that maybe this time he might not come back, he might leave them all - leave him - despite everything he'd said to the contrary. He cradled Jack tenderly, even though he couldn't feel it, and watched with wary eyes as Gwen finally talked the gun out of Clem's hand. The first frantic gasp of life returning still took him by surprise, but Ianto held on tight as Jack clutched at him, eyes still clouded by pain. Ianto hated this; hated seeing Jack so vulnerable and hated the way the way it made him feel but it was one of the few times Jack truly needed him so they clung to each other desperately as Clem disappeared into the dark, both seeking and giving what reassurance they could. Too soon, Jack pulled away and Ianto reluctantly let him go - Jack didn't seem to like dwelling on his vulnerability. Ianto scrambled off the floor and took a seat by one of the computers. He didn't even pretend to be working; he had too much to think about, all wrapped up in two words: Jack Harkness. Jack asked – demanded – that they trust him, knew so much about them – even things that Ianto hadn't admitted to another living person in years, Watchers included – and it was sobering when Ianto was reminded how little they really knew _**him**_ \- they didn't even know his name.

Ianto stared unseeingly at the screen, trying not to dwell on it and failing miserably when Jack came to sit on the desk beside him. Ianto kept his eyes fixed to the screen and the familiar restful patterns of the Torchwood screensaver; he daren't look at Jack, not just yet, he was too choked up.

"I can't believe you didn't mention this before," he said.

"They didn't speak through kids back then. I didn't recognise the signs at first."

Trust Jack to take him literally. Bloody typical. Ianto turned to face Jack, knowing that his eyes would reveal far too much of what he thought and felt and found himself hard-pressed to remember why that was a bad idea; it no longer seemed to be important.

"That's not what I meant." Going by the expression in Jack's eyes as they finally met his, Ianto was hopeful that he might actually get an explanation. The moment was broken by Rhys approaching, which made Ianto want to grind his teeth in frustration.

"They're coming back," Rhys announced with a jerk of his thumb toward Gwen and Clem. Ianto turned in his seat to face them as Jack slid off the table and moved away from him. Clem still looked terrified and about ready to bolt as he faced Jack. Ianto could relate to that, even if he still didn't forgive him for shooting Jack.

"The man who sent me and my friends to die, can't die himself," Clem said, in horrified sounding wonder. Ianto didn't miss the quick flick of Jack's eyes toward him, and then Rhys, but he didn't know what Jack was looking for, never mind whether he'd actually found it.

Jack was given the Third Degree by Gwen, even as he finished changing out of his bloodstained shirt. Ianto remained silent, but he watched carefully from a distance as Jack tried to justify his actions with an unlikely ally in the form of Rhys. Ianto only joined them at the computer again when Lois went back into the room with the 456, for this much at least, they needed him. He forced himself to keep watching as the cameraman went into the tank, even when Jack broke away and sat apart from them all, desolation apparent in every line of his body as his past came back to haunt him in a way he must never have anticipated. Ianto knew that if Jack had had any inkling of what lay ahead of those children, he wouldn't have parted with a single one and he only hoped that they could find a way to keep them safe this time or Jack's burden of guilt would be so much the heavier, even if it meant saving the rest of the planet. He glanced at Jack where he sat with his head hanging in defeat and made a decision; they would find a way – God only knew how – but they would; they had to.

 

*

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

Children of Earth Day 4: _~ No time for breaking down ~_

  
*

 

After a short and restless night that had seen none of them sleep properly, it seemed that Jack was still keeping his distance so Ianto decided enough was enough and went to find him. He presumed that Jack was still in the warehouse facility somewhere as both cars were still outside, but he was nowhere on the ground floor. Eventually he found Jack on the upper floor, sitting in a stray beam of sunlight that had somehow managed to pierce the years of grime on the glass, as if the touch of the light could help balance the darkness within. Ianto stood there for a moment, watching, not wanting to disturb Jack and feeling the absence of Methos keenly, but not just on his own behalf. He gave himself a mental shake; Methos wasn't here so he, Ianto Jones - mortal Welshman that he was - would have to do. He scuffed his feet on the floor as he approached, giving Jack warning that company was on its way. Jack in turn scrambled upright and stood, apparently waiting for Ianto to draw closer but not looking in his direction.

"This must have been eating away at you." Ianto could hear the roughness in his voice from unspoken feelings, was certain Jack must be able to as well and yet Jack continued to firmly stare straight ahead, not even flicking a glance at Ianto as he moved to stand next to Jack. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped." He would have certainly tried to help; sometimes that was enough.

"No, you couldn't." Jack shook his head, still not meeting Ianto's eyes.

And sometimes trying to help would never be enough. Even so, it was all Ianto had and he _**wasn't**_ going to give up. He'd bared his heart and soul to this man, told him things he'd barely even thought about for years, partly in an effort to encourage him to do the same. It had obviously worked less well than he'd hoped.

"I tell you everything," Ianto said. It was true; since Lisa he had held nothing back from Jack. Well, nothing apart from admitting how he felt about him, but that wasn't important. Not now.

Finally, Jack turned his head and met Ianto's eyes. Jack's seemed suspiciously bright.

"Yeah. So tell me, what should I have done?" He asked

"Stood up to them?" Ianto replied, his voice sounding like gravel in his ears. Jack turned away again. Ianto swallowed, took a deep breath and continued, his voice a little firmer. "The Jack I know would've stood up to them." But then, how well did he actually _**know**_ Jack? "I've only just scraped the surface, haven't I?"

Jack turned to face him again.

"Ianto, that's all there is," he said.

"No." Jack was not going to win this one; Ianto knew there was more to Jack than he let them see, knew the sparkling surface hid dark and uncomfortable depths. He could live with that. He _**did**_ live with that, and not just because of Jack. It was time to let Jack know, if he could. "You pretend that's all there is."

"I've lived a long time. I have done a lot of things," Jack said. Ianto held his gaze, willing him to see that it didn't matter; whatever was in the past, was past - as long as he admitted it and lived with it. Methos wasn't proud that he'd been Death, but he'd come to terms with it and lived with it every day. Why couldn't Jack see that?

Jack stepped away from Ianto, "I've got to go. I won't be long," he announced.

Brilliant. Back him into a corner and Jack bloody Harkness would still try to dodge the issue.

"You're doing it again! Speak to me, Jack!" Ianto hated talking to Jack's back, but if that's what it took to get an answer, then that's what he'd do. "Where are you going?" He added more softly. He was worried, even if he didn't want to say anything as such. Jack turned back to face him. Ianto counted that as a small victory.

"To call Frobisher. I can't make the call from here, 'cause they'll be able to trace it. Is that OK?" Ianto could tell that Jack felt he was pushing too hard, and backed off. He nodded.

"You're the boss," he said.

"And just so you know, I have a daughter called Alice and a grandson called Stephen and Frobisher took them hostage yesterday."

Ianto had nothing to say in reply to _**that**_ bombshell and allowed Jack to leave without another word. He couldn't say he was surprised as such, not really. As Jack had pointed out, he had lived a long time and as far as Ianto was aware Jack's form of immortality did not affect the biological function of certain aspects of his body, unlike those who were born with the potential to be Methos' kind of immortal. He resolutely tried to ignore the insidious voice that gleefully informed him that Jack's daughter would already be older than himself by focusing on the fact that in an age gap that was effectively millennia, a decade or so really didn't make much difference. It didn't work, not completely. He began to pace, his footsteps loud in the emptiness. It was all too much to think about.

Desperate for some air, some unenclosed space, Ianto told the others he had to go out. Surprisingly, they didn't try to either stop him or accompany him and he wondered what must have been showing on his face. He didn't really care.

A few minutes down the road, Ianto remembered his extra phone, the one that wouldn't show up on a trace – or so he hoped. The area around him was busy enough that he could easily lose himself if needs be, and far enough away that the location of the warehouse wouldn't be immediately obvious. He needed to speak to Methos – to reassure him that they were still in one piece, tell him about Jack, and to warn him to stay away again – but more than that, he really wanted to hear his voice. Perhaps a bit of 5000 year old wisdom was all he needed or maybe Siannon would almost cheerfully tell him 'so bloody what?' when he told her of Jack's family; he missed her down-to-earth practicality; it kind of reminded him of Rhiannon. Decision made, Ianto found a not-too-obvious spot to make his call.

The Porsche, and therefore Jack, was still missing when Ianto returned to the warehouse. He felt more at peace with himself and Jack, if not exactly lighter in heart. Gwen seemed to sense this and gave him a gentle smile.

"Better?" She asked.

"A bit." Ianto gave her one armed hug as he passed by her seat. "Thanks." He perched on the desk, almost the same position Jack had been in earlier and stared at his hands. "I.. er… need to tell you something about Jack, about why he seems so distracted." Ianto was pleased that his voice steadied pretty quickly from the uncertain wobble with which it had started out. Rhys drew closer and Ianto raised his head so he could meet both Rhys' and Gwen's eyes. "I think it's important that you should know…" Carefully choosing his words, Ianto explained as much as he could about Alice and Stephen and what Frobisher had done. Gwen looked heartbroken, but determined, and he knew he'd made the right decision; she might not be a mother yet, but she already had that ferocious protective instinct. If Jack wasn't happy with him for telling her and Rhys, then Ianto would just live with it, like he did with so much else.

*

Gwen envied the peace Ianto seemed to have found, she could have done with some herself. At least she had Rhys, who'd remained his steadfast and mostly unflappable self throughout the whole of this complete and utter shambles; he was the only thing that made it all bearable and she hated to think of what might have happened if she'd not succeeded in getting to him first on the night that everything changed. She felt for Ianto; he didn't really seem to have that same support in Jack as she did in Rhys – it was _**Ianto**_ who was Jack's support – and yet he appeared to be content with that. She didn't always understand how, especially when Jack had to think of the larger picture, though she suspected that Adam Pierson's increasingly frequent visits to Cardiff probably had a fair amount to do with it. She hid a smile from Rhys – she didn't want to have to explain why she was grinning like a loon in such a tense situation – Ianto gave the impression of being so straight laced sometimes and it had been a bit of an eye-opener to realise he was happily involved with two men. Tosh had always thought it was cute. Gwen sobered; she missed Tosh and Owen so much, and they could really have done with their help during all this. Resolutely, she pushed that thought, and the familiar pain, aside as dwelling on what they didn't have would not help them at all.

Jack chose that moment to return, and she twisted in her chair to watch him making his way across the damp floor. He didn't say anything, just went to sit on the stairs behind her, though she didn't miss the look that flashed between him and Ianto. She saw Ianto nod; message received and understood, obviously, but she wished she knew what message even if it wasn't strictly her business.

When the gold command meeting began they all, Jack included, gathered round the laptop and watched the screen with mounting disbelief as millions of people – children – were treated by those they'd elected to look after the country as nothing more than a way to save their own skins. Gwen felt sick, and unconsciously rubbed her stomach as if to reassure the tiny life inside her that she would never let anything like this happen to it – or not as long as she lived at least.

The only good thing about it all was that the footage had at last galvanised them into making some sort of plan and while Gwen wasn't exactly happy with something that seemed over simplistic, she hadn't been able to come up with anything better, not with the resources they currently had available. She'd expected Ianto to raise some objection, but judging by his silence he couldn't think of anything to improve it either. Maybe they were all too tired, too worried, too worn down to think straight and they were all of them far too aware that the clock was ticking against them. Something had to be done.

She watched affectionately as Jack and Ianto both readied their guns, saying so much without speaking. Gwen found herself more than half tempted to find a way to lock the two of them up somewhere until they actually managed to _**talk**_ to each other, but as with so many other things it would have to wait until this was over.

"Let's go stand up to them," Jack said. There was more to the phrase than what was said aloud, Gwen could see that, but she though she didn't know exactly what, she bet that Ianto did.

"Yes, sir!" Ianto replied. Oh yes, he definitely knew. She mentally wished them luck, both in this and everything else, as she watched them leave.

*

There was a part of Ianto that felt invincible as he sat next to Jack in the Porsche during their trip into central London and he concentrated on that rather than give credence to the sneaking suspicion that what they were doing would just turn into an unmitigated disaster. He couldn't afford to think like that, not when Jack needed his faith and trust and certainly when he couldn't actually think of anything better to offer. When they hit the gridlock Ianto used his own phone to contact Rhiannon; it would be traced, but that was half the idea. The other half of the idea was to warn her and the people listening of what their government was going to attempt to do and if he took the opportunity to say something he'd not said to her often enough since he was out of his teens – if at all – then that was all to the good. He didn't care who heard it, and it might just make them think.

Call over, he remained at Jack's side as they made their way to Thames House and their objective, barely pausing to inform Gwen that they'd arrived. She and Rhys would do their part well, he was certain, and it was up to him to ensure that he did too. He could not afford to doubt Jack, or they would fail. This was his life, his way to make a difference – through little more than Welsh determination and faith. It was time; the door of Thames House loomed before them, daring them to pit themselves against its might, and that of the unknown within.

*

Gwen had not long chased Rhys out, laptop clutched like gold – or a bomb – in his arms, when Ianto rang to say he and Jack were in position. Clem huddled next to her as she typed furiously, trying to put all their faith in Lois, all their need into every keystroke. She could only hope that Lois picked up on that, and agreed to put her life on the line, otherwise they were lost and millions of children would die undefended. Gwen held her breath, conscious that with every minute that passed the woman she had met when rescuing Jack would be drawing closer. Then Lois was speaking, and she didn't have to be a genius to figure out what she'd said from the reaction of everyone else in that room.

"I think she's doing it. Good girl!" Beside her, Clem looked nervously hopeful, until they heard the sound of running, booted feet and then he just looked terrified. Gwen swivelled the chair round to meet the eyes of the woman holding the gun trained on her head.

"We've been expecting you," she said conversationally. The gun didn't waver from where it was aimed, and the threats didn't stop either. Gwen refused to comply with the demands - instead she suggested that they should look at the screen and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realised they were taking her up on the offer.

To her credit, the woman – Johnson, her men had called her – seemed shocked by what was going on in the Cabinet room and when the direct feed from the Thames House cameras finally began to be broadcast to them she was watching the screen as avidly as Gwen. She almost seemed ashamed that she'd been sent to destroy the very people that were now trying to save them though Gwen wasn't sure she'd ever forgive her for that destruction, even if Johnson was acting under orders.

Gwen's heart started to pound an irregular staccato as the klaxons sounded in Thames House. She desperately turned to Johnson, who looked just as horrified as she did.

"Can they override it?" Gwen asked frantically.

"I don't know." Johnson replied. They watched helplessly as Jack ran out of the room, leaving Ianto alone with the monster in the tank. Gwen felt her eyes filling up; even presented with impossible odds Ianto would not stand down and she felt proud of him while at the same time she just wanted to scream at him to get out, to look after himself and forget about the rest, even though he could not hear her. It wouldn't have made any difference if he could as Ianto would not escape at other people's cost; he was Torchwood, as was Jack.

They stood together and she watched them uselessly face down the 456 with nothing but their handguns. Gwen's eyes were burning and her throat felt like there was a scream stuck right there, begging for release but unable to find it. There _**had**_ to be something else Jack could do – it was Jack – he wouldn't just let the monster get the best of them, wouldn't… the shriek through the speakers disrupted her train of thought, then she caught sight of Clem, his face contorted in agony, hands over his ears.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" Gwen yelled at Johnson, dashing over to Clem to try to hold him as he writhed in pain. She had no idea what was happening, and Clem was suffering in front of her eyes - she had to do something. She held him tight, murmuring softly in case it got through to him and watched in horror as blood poured from his ears and trickled through his fingers – and then from his nose, and his mouth. He was dying in her arms and there was nothing she could do to stop it, nothing she could do to ease his pain. She was helpless. Worse than helpless. Useless. And it was _**her**_ fault – she'd brought him back here, encouraged him to trust them. If it wasn't for her... Clem stilled in her arms, his body limp and heavy, his face slack. Dead. If it wasn't for her, he might be alive. She gently laid him down on the pallets where they'd ended up sitting and turned to face Johnson, who was watching with wide eyed concern.

"He's dead," Gwen announced. There was one thing more she had to know. "What about Thames House?" She asked Johnson, her throat thick with tears. Johnson glanced quickly at the laptop.

"They can't get out," she said. Gwen laid her head in her hands, and sobbed. Nothing, it had all come to nothing. They'd tried so hard to do the right thing, and where had it got them? Clem dead in a damp warehouse and Ianto - Gwen looked up with teary eyes, and could barely focus on the screen of the laptop through them - Ianto dying in Jack's arms. For all the good they tried to do, Torchwood's touch was death - no more, no less; they all bore the consequences of that.

It felt like a lifetime later before Gwen could bring herself to look at the computer screen again, but then it _**was**_ a lifetime later in a way, for Ianto. She stared almost unseeingly at it, part of her waiting for Jack and Ianto to wake up, hoping desperately – against all appearances to the contrary – that there had been some sort of mistake. Not even Jack revived while she watched and they remained unmoving in the remnants of their last embrace for everyone to see. She was half aware of Johnson issuing soft-voiced orders behind her, of people moving to and fro but the squeak of wheels and metal managed to sink in to her consciousness in a way that the people hadn't. She turned to see them carefully picking up Clem and lying him on the wheeled stretcher, treating him with a respect he'd probably rarely seen in his life.

"Where are you taking him?" Gwen asked. Johnson moved into her line of sight.

"Ashton Down, for now," Johnson replied. "We can release the body to his remaining family, if there is any, unless you…"

"No… no, that's fine. But let me know if you can't find anyone, yeah?" Johnson nodded, and turned away. Gwen flicked her eyes toward the computer once more. There was no change. "What happens with Thames House?"

"They'll have to follow decontamination protocol. I doubt my team will be involved." Gwen heard the slight hitch in Johnson's voice, even though she couldn't see her face. She stared at Johnson's back, willing her to continue, and slowly Johnson turned towards her. Even though her expression was wary and professionally blank, Gwen was sure she could see the carefully shuttered pain in the grey eyes. "They won't allow anyone to be moved anyone from there, not yet at least. But when they do, no-one will attempt to keep Torchwood from claiming her own. Not now. Not after this."

"And you?"

"I'll be taking my team back to Ashton Down when we're given the all clear. Alice and Stephen Carter will be released; holding them is not going to accomplish anything now."

"Thank you," Gwen said, closing her eyes briefly to prevent more tears from joining the ones already drying on her face. When she opened them again, Johnson was still there. Gwen was glad of that; she had one more thing to ask. "How long before…" Both of them turned in unison to the computer screen and the two figures sprawled lifeless on the floor, while the monster in the tank remained quiescent; its point made.

"I don't know; I'm sorry. When I find out you _**will**_ be the first to know." With that, Gwen had to be content as Johnson gave her a curt nod and turned on her heel. Gwen bit her lip, and reached out her fingers to touch the screen.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I promise," she whispered brokenly. "Even if I have to walk."

As it turned out, she didn't have to walk; Johnson insisted on taking her to Thames House herself, something Gwen both appreciated and found abhorrent in equal measure. The journey across London in the military Land Rover had to count as one of the worst, but also one of the most forgettable, trips of her life. Gwen was numb, and barely remembered the trip because of that, but it wasn't the numbness of not-feeling, it was the numbness of feeling too much, of being terrified of what might happen when the floodgates opened and she no longer had any control over herself. So she sat there, silent, determinedly not thinking of what was waiting for her. Jack had always called her the 'heart' of Torchwood but that heart had always had an element of steel in its make up and she called on that, as much as she ever had done in her life.

Gwen almost lost that resolve as she followed the soldiers into the gym that was doing duty as a morgue. There were so many people; so much death. She swallowed, and straightened her spine; she was here for the only other member of Torchwood who could walk out with her. There was nothing she could do for Ianto now, but she could mourn and share her grief with someone else who'd loved him. Slowly, she walked toward them, kneeling in the space between them before she gently moved the red sheet away from the face of whoever was on her left. Jack. It wouldn't be long now before he came gasping back into life, she could tell. The next step was so much harder to take and she had to draw several deep breaths before she continued, but continue she did; she had to, no matter how much the pain burned and the unshed tears threatened to choke her.

Ianto was…Ianto. Precise as ever, the bloody scar on his cheek from days ago the only mark on him, but too still, too cold, too pale and too damn young for this to be happening. She leaned down to straighten his already perfectly knotted tie and rested her hand briefly over his heart – the heart that had felt so much, so strongly, and would never now feel again. Unbidden, her tears began to fall, Jack forgotten for a moment as her sorrow overwhelmed her.

*

For the first time since he'd become immortal, Jack didn't fight his way back into life; he felt like he had nothing to fight _**fo**_ _ **r**_ so what was the point? Of course it didn't matter what he wanted, life would return anyway, and it did; gently and without fanfare. He lay blinking for a few seconds, the floor cold and hard beneath him, until he became aware of someone nearby. Gwen. If she was there, that meant only one thing; his last, desperate kiss, the only time he'd tried to _**use**_ the power of his life for anything since Abbadon, had failed. He'd been too late, or it hadn't been enough. Ianto was gone, had left him behind where he couldn't follow. He sat up with another gasp, his lungs burning as air and blood and life flowed through them once more. Never had it been more unwelcome. Like it or not, he was alive and there was one person right here and right now who needed him. If he was honest, he needed her just as much. He scrambled to kneel beside Gwen, one arm round her shoulder to pull her close. He reached out to touch Ianto's cold, lifeless skin and found his hand captured by one of hers; it seemed tiny and fragile as she wrapped it around his. They clung to each other as he let her shed the tears he couldn't.

"There's nothing we can do," she whispered, hammering another nail into the coffin of his heart. There should have been – he was Jack Harkness, he was Torchwood Cardiff – there was always supposed to be _**something**_ he could do, but it seemed he'd found the lie that underpinned that hope, the rot at the centre, and he felt dead inside despite the life he held in abundance. There was nothing left.

 

*

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

Children of Earth: Day 5 _~ No Time_ _For Tears_ _~_

  
*

Jack sat quietly next to Gwen in what had been a cafeteria area, and was now just a place with seating near more of the ever present bodies that littered Thames House. He said nothing as Frobisher and his assistant joined them; couldn't bring himself to care overmuch about them. Gwen still cared; Gwen cared too much and Jack couldn't bear it. He steeled himself to meet her eyes as he told her to stand down, and call Rhys back. As she went to make the call, Jack felt obliged to ask Frobisher about Lois who'd risked so much to help them, but wasn't surprised at the answer when he heard she was in custody.

"Then what about my daughter and her son?" Jack asked. There were few things left now that he could bring himself to care about, and fewer still over which he had any influence. Alice and Stephen were the foremost of those.

"They're free to go," Frobisher replied.

Jack ducked his head and breathed a faint sigh of relief; he hadn't dare hope for that. Maybe something good would come out of this after all. Then he remembered *why* he was sitting there, and raised his eyes again, ready to ask Frobisher the last thing on his mind.

"Ianto Jones, he's got family back in South Wales, a sister, has she been told?"

"We're not releasing any of the names, not yet."

"Then let Gwen tell her. You said yourself the world is going to hell any second. Before it does, give us a moment of grace. Just take Gwen home, please." Jack glanced over to Gwen where she sat on the floor, crying quietly into her drawn-up knees. His stomach flipped unpleasantly. "I can't look at her any more," he added in almost a whisper. To his surprise, Frobisher agreed, but of course there was a condition. Jack consented to being put into custody without a second thought; he could do nothing now, even if he wanted to.

The blades of the helicopter caused his coat to whip around him as he gave Gwen one last hug before she left. It wasn't the only thing he had for Gwen though. His lips were pressed to her ear, her hair a tangled mass around his face that hid what he was saying from view.

"They've got kids. Ianto's niece and nephew," he murmured, then he squeezed her tighter for emphasis "Save them." For Ianto, they had to try; it was all they could do. As the helicopter rose above London, his hope went with it, and he didn't protest when he felt the snick of high-security cuffs around his wrists. There was no reason to fight.

The cell door clanged shut behind Jack, a forbidding sound that ran counterpoint to Lois' frantic demands to know what was going on. She had every right to know seeing as she'd laid her job and possibly her chance at a normal life on the line for the sake of Torchwood while barely knowing who or what they were, but Jack couldn't bring himself to care, not any more. Her life probably had gone to hell but everything he touched seemed to turn to ashes sooner or later so he couldn't really say it was a complete surprise. Once, he'd allowed himself to hope, to dream – not for a normal life, that was impossible – but for something better, something that could touch his heart and soul in a way that had so rarely happened in his life. He'd had it – and now he didn't. His fault, _**his**_ fault. All of it. The children. Ianto. Lois. The nameless, faceless others who had died with Ianto in Thames House who, like Ianto, shouldn't have died. And more – back – further back. Tosh. Owen. Susie. Estelle. Lucia. Alex. Michael. More – so many more. Every name a reminder that try as he might, he ultimately failed. It was easy to ignore the small voice inside him – sounding suspiciously like Ianto – that whispered 'what about Methos?' as he'd been doing his utmost to ignore it for the last few days. He couldn't accept that there was someone in his life who would understand, who felt the same pain, who _**dealt**_ with that pain, and had even been the cause of similar pain himself, yet who lived and loved despite it, who loved _him_ no matter that it had never been mentioned, just like Ianto never had... until Jack killed him. To know that he had lost so much due to a lack of forethought, because of his need to be seen to be doing something, was a demon he barely dared face. He hurt so much, his heart hollow and bleeding within him, but all that the pain did was remind him that he wasn't worthy of people's trust and love because when he did receive it, he broke them; irrevocably. Even though he was immortal, Methos was not indestructible; Jack knew that and he did not want to break Methos too, but most of all he didn't think he would be able to face him – not after this. Jack was alone, as fate – or the Bad Wolf – had decreed.

The Doctor's instinct about him had been correct; he was wrong.

Jack had no idea how long he'd been in the cell; he'd not bothered to check his watch to keep track on the passage of time, there seemed little point. He was half aware of people coming and going – he could have sworn he heard Bridget Spears voice at one point – of the security hatch being opened and closed at irregular intervals, but none of it truly registered. All his attention was taken up by the endless swirl in his head of things he could have done – should have done – differently, never mind what he should have _**said**_ and would never have the chance to say now. Suddenly, an unexpected commotion broke out somewhere beyond the cell door and he still retained enough presence of mind that it instantly put him on alert as he leapt up to peer through the small observation port in the door. Even so, he did not expect that the black-uniformed soldiers would barge into his cell and drag him out of the place. He wondered what they wanted with him, but somehow didn't think they'd be amenable to answering questions. He was cuffed again as soon as they could safely stop to do so and bundled into a waiting Land Rover.

"Agent Johnson will explain," one of the soldiers said as they drove across London. The meeting wasn't a pleasant prospect – he presumed Agent Johnson was the one who had destroyed the Hub and sealed him in concrete so he could think of no good reason for why she wanted him back in her custody, not when he was already broken by his own hand. He realised that the last of their journey would be by air when he was manhandled out of the Land Rover and into the service entrance of a building he never had the chance to see properly, apart from realising it was tall. The suspicion was confirmed while they waited by the helipad on the roof which meant that wherever they were going, it wasn't that close. For better or worse, he would find out what was wanted of him when they arrived at their destination.

Agent Johnson was just as militarily precise and direct as Jack remembered from the little he'd seen of her previously, which he realised had probably been in this very place. The memory made his eyes sting and his heart ache; he had no Ianto to break him out of here this time and his continued freedom was solely under her control. The sight of Alice and Stephen – unrestrained and not under guard – as he was 'escorted' down the corridor of the old MOD base was the only light Jack'd had in a day full of darkness; it seemed Frobisher had kept his promise. He hoped that Gwen would be able to keep Ianto's family safe, but doubted that he would be able – or allowed – to find out.

Jack followed as the soldiers pushed Dekker into what appeared to be an old hangar; no-one touched him until it was indicated he should stand so they could remove his cuffs.

"This should be everything you need," Johnson said. "And if it's not, we'll find it." She sounded very determined about something, but didn't say anything else.

"For what?" Jack asked as he rubbed some feeling back into his wrists.

"Wavelengths. The 456 are named after a wavelength, and that's got to be the key to fighting back." That explained the presence of Dekker, though judging by the expression on his face, Dekker was less than impressed.

"You're wasting your time," Dekker said. "There's nothing you can do. I've analysed those transmissions for 40 years and never broke 'em." He sounded very sure of himself and that annoyed Jack for some reason. It must also have annoyed Johnson as she casually pulled out her gun, turned on Dekker and shot him in the leg. She turned back to face Jack with the hint of a rather feral smile on her face.

"What do you think, Captain?" Johnson asked, indicating Alice with a jerk of her head. "She told me you were good. Was she right?" Jack could barely believe his ears. Alice? He was here because of Alice? After everything that had passed between them over the years, sometimes acrimoniously, for her to still have faith that he could do something, that he was the _**only**_ person who could do something was almost startling. It gave him a glimmer of hope, a hint of fragile belief that maybe she was right and he could be that person, despite everything that had happened. He gave Alice a smile – a little twisted maybe, but it was a smile.

"Let's get to work," Jack said. He shrugged out of his coat and headed toward the bank of computers and other electronic paraphernalia. He attacked the computers with a renewed sense of purpose, trying to put out of his mind everything that could interfere; it wasn't easy but as long as concentrated on what he was doing, what he was trying to achieve, he could almost ignore the empty place at his side and in his heart. He didn't let Dekker's negativity get to him either as he knew something that Dekker most certainly didn't; no-one had managed to hack into Torchwood Three for the last five years or so, or not without Tosh knowing about it at least and letting them see only what she wanted them to see. There was no way Jack was going to let Dekker _**or**_ Johnson know that.

Despite the extra resources, Jack still couldn't find a solution and he began to think that Alice's faith in him had been misplaced; he already felt like he hadn't deserved it and his lack of progress made it worse. Then Alice called him over and showed him what was going on outside – busloads of unhappy children, many of them terrified and screaming, being ferried to an unknown fate. It wasn't an unknown fate to Jack; he knew, as did everyone else in the hangar. The image of one girl, probably around the same age as Ianto's niece, was brought into close up; tear stained face pressed close to the window of the bus as she banged her small hand ineffectually on the glass, obviously crying out for her mother. No person, especially not a parent, could look at that girl and fail to be moved to anger. Fury surged through Jack; blinding, white-hot fury that coalesced to an icy knot of rage deep within him. Ianto had been killed trying to help him stop this; he could not let it happen now. It was up to him to save the children, save the world. He would find a way. He had to. Somehow.

*

There'd been no news from Jack, Ianto or Gwen since Ianto's call the day after the whatever-it-was had descended on Thames House in a pillar of fire, and the few reports that had made it through had only made the waiting worse. They knew _**something**_ had happened, but not exactly what and only the phone call from Ianto had stopped Methos from walking the 5 miles or so into the centre of London to try to get answers, with his sword if needs be. Not that Siannon blamed Methos; she would have been walking right beside him. Then she'd watched today in horror as hundreds – thousands – of terrified children were rounded up by the military with apparently no thought for them or their distraught parents. Her only consolation was knowing that the kids she taught were safe, and that she'd done all she could to protect the younger ones by getting on the phone at the first mention of inoculations by the government to demand of her superiors that they keep the schools closed. There had been no protest; in an area like Cumbria where many of the kids came from remote villages and the weather was unpredictable to say the least, school closures were a facet of everyday life and no-one would turn a hair if they stayed closed.

Siannon sipped her tea as she watched Methos prowl around the room with barely controlled fury, just as she'd watched him rage and curse and scream before he'd manage to haul himself into check. He'd stopped short of doing any major physical damage beyond throwing the odd item at the TV but she had no idea how he was going to continue at the emotional fever-pitch that was currently driving him without doing something or someone – including himself – harm. Throughout it all she'd strived to remain impassive, not to inflame him further by her own anguish, to be the calm centre he needed, his anchor, the voice of reason; it had been one of the most difficult things she'd done in years considering all she'd wanted to do was join him. Finally, it seemed to be getting through to him, and he stopped mid prowl in the centre of the room, head bent, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to see that," he said. She shrugged in reply after breathing a quiet sigh of relief at his apparent return to his 'normal' self.

"Happens to us all, sometimes. You just don't let go very easily - or very often."

"I can't afford to."

She put her tea down on the floor, scrambled out of her chair and picked her way through the scattered mess until she was close enough to fling her arms around him in the hug she'd wanted to give him since he fell apart in front of her.

"Sometimes you have to for the sake of sanity – other people's if not your own. If it's any consolation, seeing you so angry is almost therapeutic."

There was a slightly hysterical sounding but rather muffled snort of disbelief from the vicinity of her shoulder.

"I did say 'almost'," Siannon added as she stroked the back of Methos' head. "Mostly, it just hurts because I can't do anything about the cause. I wish I could."

"You and me both," he mumbled, before he stepped out of the circle of her arms. "I know the old adage is 'no news is good news' but..."

"That's not the way you feel. I know what you mean - it's like waiting for a blade to fall..." she shuddered and reached out to grab his hand again, needing the contact and the mutual comfort. Judging by how tightly he held on, Methos did too.

 

*

 

Dekker continued to be dismissive of Jack's efforts, in effect telling him there was nothing he was doing that hadn't already been done, and done better, by people the world over. That got Jack to thinking; what did *they* have that was different? There must be a piece of the puzzle he was missing. Then he had it – the remnant that had been disconnected.

"Why did Clem die?" Jack asked, as much thinking aloud as truly expecting an answer.

"It was the 456 that killed him," Johnson replied.

"But how did they do it? Why did they do it?" He didn't look at her, still trying to chase the idea that was forming in his head.

"We've got the recording here." Johnson moved to one of the other stations. Jack paid her little heed, intent on following the path his thoughts were taking.

"His mind must have synced to the 456 back when he was a child. But they didn't need to kill him. He wasn't any threat." But maybe Clem _**had**_ been a threat, or at least an irritant. "Unless maybe that connection hurt them," Jack mused.

"This is the 456 at the moment of his death," said Johnson as she made her way back to Jack's side, She tapped in a few commands and stood back. "We've lifted the sound from the Thames House link."

The eerie noise filled the silence between them.

"That sound, Mr Dekker, what's that sound?" Jack demanded.

"I don't know. It's new," Dekker said. The uncertainty in his voice was plain to hear and a contrast to his earlier attitude. That alone would have convinced Jack he was on the right path, even if his own thoughts hadn't been leading him in the same direction.

"Exactly. It's new," Jack said. "We don't have to analyse the wavelength, just copy it. Turn it into a constructive wave... But we've got no way of transmitting."

"Of course you have." Dekker sounded entirely too smug to Jack's ears – he looked it too. Then something in Jack's mind clicked as he realised where the path he'd been following ended and he flinched in horrified disbelief at the prospect.

"Shut up," he told Dekker.

"Same way as them," Dekker continued.

"I'll find something else." He couldn't do it. Wouldn't. Not if he could help it.

"What does he mean?" Johnson asked.

"Don't listen to him," Jack ground out.

"Dekker, tell me," she demanded,

"The 456 used children… to establish the resonance." Jack's eyes flicked toward Dekker, who sounded for all the world like he was discussing a hypothetical problem; it probably was one to him.

"Meaning what?" Johnson asked for clarification.

"We need a child," Dekker said. Jack felt Alice draw closer, but he would not look at her. He hoped she wouldn't ask the question, but she was his daughter and too curious for her own well being. She was also a mother, with all the protective instincts that brought.

"What do you mean?" Alice asked. Jack's heart sank; he wanted to wring Dekker's neck and wipe that smug expression off his face once and for all, but he daren't. There was too much at stake.

"Centre of the resonance. Oh, that child's going to fry." Dekker's voice was entirely too gleeful for pronouncing what was basically a death sentence. Jack clenched his jaw and stared resolutely at the keyboard. Any second now…

"No, Dad. No, tell them no."

"One child or millions."

Alice and Johnson made him feel like he was being ripped apart.

"Dad, tell them no!"

"We're running out of time."

Ripped apart and trampled underfoot.

Both of them making his heart bleed. Pleading. Begging him for such different reasons, for the same thing.

_Life._

"Dad, no! No, Dad!" Alice was almost screaming at him.

"Captain?!" Jack could see the tears in Johnson's eyes but the distress caused by the thought of what she was asking him to do didn't stop her doing her duty; she was asking anyway.

Duty. Was that all he had left? Did he _have_ another way to stop the 456? Could he live with himself if he didn't stop them? He heard the voices of Torchwood's past echoing in his head... the Needs of the Many Outweigh the Needs of the Few. He'd lived by that tenet himself for so many years, was it so different now? Could he really give up millions of children to that fate because he wasn't prepared to give up one, even if that child was his own flesh and blood?

The answer was no.

He was Torchwood; the man who didn't care, the one who made the decisions other people couldn't bear to make. It was what he did.

Jack nodded tightly, and the hangar erupted into action; Johnson's men hurried out of the door with Alice tearing after them, as she screamed for Stephen at the top of her voice.

The hangar was locked as Stephen was brought in and placed onto the grill that would be their resonance source; he would be both amplifier and transmitter. Jack glanced at him, the innocent blue eyes were wide with apprehension and yet still trusting.

"What are we doing, Uncle Jack?" Jack turned away. He wouldn't answer. How could he? Even so, Stephen didn't move, despite his mother hammering on the safety glass of the door. "What's happening? What do you want me to do?"

Jack hesitated; he would have done this with barely a second thought if it had been another child, he had before, but this was Stephen; his own grandson, the kid whose face lit up every time he saw Jack no matter how infrequently it was. Family. Blood was thicker than water...

_Blood._

Blood on Ianto's face as he lay dying in Jack's arms, dying because he'd loved him and trusted him to do what was needed. Jack reached out with shaking hands and hit the keys that would save the planet, and kill Stephen.

Then all he could do was stand vigil, consumed by pain and disgust, while Stephen gave his life for them all.

He remained motionless when Johnson gave the order to let Alice back in, staring at his daughter with tear-filled eyes. Jack had thought he couldn't sink any deeper into despair, but as he watched Alice weeping over Stephen's body he realised he'd been the worst kind of fool to assume that. He might have saved millions of children a fate worse than death but the hatred and accusation in his daughter's eyes made it all seem irrelevant – he hadn't tried to save his own flesh and blood. The tears ran unhindered down his face as another part of him died; never had he felt more unworthy to bear the name of Jack Harkness.

 

*

 

Gwen almost dropped the phone from nerveless fingers after Johnson rang off. She stood there shaking, unable to completely process the enormity of what she'd been told.

"Jesus Christ!" The words were choked by shock and her never ending supply of tears. "Jesus Holy Fucking Christ!"

"What? Gwen, Love. What is it now? What happened?" Rhys' arms were a comforting presence around her. She turned, and buried her face in his shoulder.

"It was him. He did it. He stopped them. He... I can't believe it. I can't."

"Who?" Rhys mumbled into her hair.

"Jack. He stopped the 456."

"That's good - isn't it?"

She shook her head where it rested against Rhys, then raised teary eyes to gaze at him.

"He sacrificed his grandson to do it," she said baldly, not trying to soften the blow at all.

"Fuck."

"Ianto would have stopped him. He would have found another way, I'm sure. He was like that." Rhys' arms tightened around her - she was so glad she had him; someone who loved her, someone to comfort her, someone who tried to understand even if he walked a different path – and something clicked in her head. She pulled away from Rhys' embrace. "Ianto. My God, _**Ianto**_ he..."

She started tearing around the flat, searching.

\--

_After they'd lost Tosh and Owen, Ianto had taken her aside and given her a Torchwood business card. She'd been puzzled until she turned it over and noticed the mobile number, then she'd put two and two together – and surprisingly got four._

_"Adam's?" She'd asked._

_"His private number." Ianto confirmed. "If.. if... anything should happen to me I need you to tell him; for me - for Jack. Please."_

_"I will," she'd promised._

\--

She looked in all the normal places, and couldn't find it. Cursing, tears pouring down her face she decided to try the unlikely ones and ran into the bedroom. She found it inside the wedding card she'd got from Owen and Tosh, the one she kept in her bedside cabinet.

"Thank bloody God!" She yelled, and dashed back out into the living room with the card in her hand, making straight for the phone.

"Gwen, love. I don't..."

"Jack and Ianto had a..a...friend. Adam. He needs to know about Ianto. Hell, he needs to know about _**Jack**_."

"Are you sure that's really a good idea?" Rhys didn't sound convinced in the least, but then he hadn't met Adam and certainly didn't know how significant he was – had been – in Ianto's life. Gwen clutched the card like a talisman and took a deep breath.

"Trust me on this, Rhys," she said. "He's the only person who could understand, I know I bloody can't. And for Ianto? I'd do more if I could."

She reached for the phone and dialled, heart in her mouth and didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified when it was picked up quickly, with a terse 'yes'.

"Adam? Adam Pierson? It's Gwen – from Torchwood."

There was a pause, as if he were trying to remember or trying to get himself under enough control to answer. The latter, she decided when she heard his deep sigh.

"It's Ianto, isn't it?"

She nodded, and then remembered he couldn't see her. She took a deep breath and bit her lip before replying.

"I'm sorry. He... Jack..." her voice was filling with tears and she couldn't go on for a moment.

"Tell me, Gwen. I need to know. All of it."

She reached out her free hand to Rhys, needing the contact, the reassurance and his support more than she'd ever done in her life. Slowly, tearfully, she began to recount the horror of the last day – and of Ianto's last hours – to the only person left on the planet that might understand Jack Harkness.

*

Jack stood blinking in the sunshine as the doors swung shut behind him, the sound echoing through him with an eerie finality. The sunlight seemed to mock his heavy heart with its bright cheerfulness – he almost felt as if the sky should be weeping now that he had no tears left to shed.

The end is where we start from

How he had to laugh at himself for that now he realised there was no way forward for someone like him. But still... he took one step, then another and another and soon he was almost running – it was all he could do. He came to a slithering stop against a car that suddenly pulled over in front of him, staring with wide eyes as he recognised it, his hands shaking.

The passenger door opened, beckoning to him, and he stumbled toward it, almost falling into the embrace of the familiar seat. He pulled the door closed and leaned back, head bowed.

"Ianto's gone," he whispered.

"I know," was the gentle reply. There were no platitudes, no expressions of sorrow but Jack wasn't really surprised at that, even though he was kind of surprised to have Methos there in the first place; he'd expected to be left alone, to be shunned by everyone after what he'd done. The car began to move away, smooth and quiet as always and totally at odds with how Jack felt.

"I killed my grandson, alienated my daughter forever and I can't bear to even _**look**_ at Gwen. I've reached the end of the road, Methos, I can't do this any more," he said wearily.

"I know."

Jack sighed. "I guess you do..." There was silence then, and the merest brush of fingers against his, reassuring in its brevity. Eventually Jack felt the need to break the silence. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever we have to so you can find the next road to travel."

"We?"

"We. For now."

*

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Beyond Day 5 _~_ _No time to be_ _A_ _fraid of_ _F_ _ear_ _~_

 

*

It was close to sunset when Rhiannon made her way back to the graveyard. The funeral had given some closure to the rest of the family, but she needed to say her final goodbye to her brother alone, just the two of them together as it had so often been when they were younger, united in their desire to have more than their life had seemed determined to give them. In the end Rhiannon had found her peace far closer to home than she'd thought she would, and Ianto... well, Ianto had carried on searching. When he'd sat at her table on the day the world had started falling apart, she'd wondered if he'd finally discovered what he'd been looking for. Now she would never know for certain, and all that was left was goodbye.

As she made her way to the corner of the cemetery where they'd buried him – an odd, out of the way spot, between 2 other graves - she realised there was someone else there, kneeling in the freshly turned earth over Ianto's final resting place. At first she didn't recognise him, and wondered _**why**_ there was a strange man kneeling in the dirt, then he raised his head and she caught sight of his face. She choked back a sob – there was so much sorrow engraved in every line of his features – and fought the desire to just run over and fling her arms around him, as if a hug would make things better like it did for a child. She'd noticed him at the funeral, half-hidden in the shadows with the man they called Jack Harkness, keeping their distance from the other mourners, and she'd wondered who he was. Harkness had disappeared without a word of course, and she didn't expect she'd see him again, but there was something about this man... she took a step closer, unable to help herself even though part of her hated to intrude on his grief. She must have made some sort of noise as he turned to face her, nodded, and then turned back to the silent grave.

"Rhiannon Davies; I should have realised you'd be back."

She had no idea what he meant by that, and he also had her at a disadvantage as she also had no idea who he was, though from his eyes - his face - his whole demeanour – he had obviously loved her brother. And Ianto, close mouthed as always, had never even breathed a word about him. She settled into the dirt beside him.

"You loved Ianto," she said. It wasn't a question; the answer was already right there in front of her eyes.

"I did. More than I ever expected to – he... he got right under my skin when I wasn't looking."

"That sounds like our Ianto, alright. Did he know?" She glanced across at the man beside her; he didn't acknowledge the look – Rhiannon wasn't sure he even saw it.

"I hope so. He never seemed to believe me when I told him he was special, and I...I..." His eyes closed, shuttering his face. Rhiannon sighed.

"You never said those 3 little words, did you? Typical bloody man. Still, wherever he is now, I hope he knows for certain. He deserves that."

"Yes, he does."

"You know, I have absolutely no idea where you fit into the picture. He never told anyone about you." She tried to sound down to earth, despite the fact that her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. Sometimes it was brought home to her that even with their shared upbringing she hadn't really known Ianto as well as she would have liked.

The man finally opened his eyes, and looked at her. He had beautiful eyes, for all they were so full of tears, and she wondered what Ianto had seen behind them.

"I'm not surprised he said nothing." He sighed; it was a very thoughtful sound. Rhiannon waited for him to continue "Ianto valued my privacy above all else, and I always appreciated that. He... understood... a lot about me and it made no difference to him. That was one of the things I loved about him, and he never could see it... To him we just _**were**_ and that was all there was to it."

Rhiannon had no trouble imagining that, Ianto had always stubbornly refused to be influenced by other people's opinions and once he had made his mind up about something he was steadfast in his belief. Sometimes that way of looking at the world had done him no favours – she remembered having to clean him up after too many fights – but it had still never shaken him from taking that path. She wasn't like that, though, she needed to be reassured that what she was doing was right, like she needed to be reassured now by the strange and compelling man who was so obviously mourning her brother.

"I still don't understand though. Ianto worked with Jack Harkness – he _**died**_ with him for God's sake – and from what I've gathered, he loved him."

"Oh he did, never doubt that for a moment. What we had... I don't think any of us truly anticipated. Not me, not Jack, and certainly not Ianto. And now... it's gone. He's gone. And we're alone, even when we're together."

"With a Ianto shaped hole in your lives."

"Yes. And too few memories to fill it; we didn't have long enough, we never do...."

He bent his head, to hide his tears Rhiannon thought until he looked up again with them still plain on his face and in his eyes. Unconsciously she fumbled in her bag and passed him a tissue; she'd had need enough of them the last few days with all the crying she'd done. He took the tissue from her and smiled through his tears.

"Just like a Jones..." he whispered, before wiping his face. "Thank you." He sat back on his heels, and Rhiannon could tell he was preparing to leave. She reached out a hand and laid it on his arm.

"At least tell me your name, so I can remember that there was someone who loved my brother like he deserved."

"And how was that?"

"Without holding back," she said honestly, simply, meaning every word.

"Without holding back?" He gave her a twisted smile, and the sheer anguish of it caught at her heart. "You wouldn't say that if you knew me." He sounded like he hated himself, and Rhiannon was all too familiar with that feeling, just not on the same scale she suspected this man felt. She took refuge in her ability to say what she saw and damn the consequences without even thinking about it.

"Well I don't know you, and I'm never going to either. All I know is that when I find a man I've never heard of sobbing his heart out on my brother's grave, it doesn't look like he's holding much back to me. You're here. I'm here. Jack Harkness isn't." There was a thread of bitterness at the last as she resented that Harkness hadn't made the effort to speak to her, or the rest of the family. To her mind he should have, no matter what he was feeling.

Fingers tightened round hers where they still lay on the unknown man's arm. There was earth trapped under his fingernails.

"Don't judge Jack too harshly, he..." the man trailed off with a slight shake of his head, and took a deep breath. "It's not my place to explain, I'm sorry. In a way I'm grieving for us both - he loved Ianto too."

"He was easy to love, my little brother. I'm going to miss him. Even though we didn't see each other so much any more at least I still knew he was there. It used to be me and him against the world, when we were kids and I can't believe I'll never see him again." Unbidden, the tears started to flow. Rhiannon bit her lip and sniffed, she should be all out of tears by now. Before she could scrabble in her bag for another tissue, an earth-stained hand snaked around her, and pulled her into a hug. How long she sat like that, face buried into the stranger's shoulder, she could not say but the sun had disappeared completely by the time she raised her head. "I should go," she whispered. The man nodded, his profile catching the remaining light.

"Me too." He turned to face her, clasping her hand gently. "I'm glad I finally met you, Rhiannon Davies. I just wish it could have been under better circumstances." He scrambled upright and held out a hand. She took it, glad of his support as she struggled to her feet. "I'm Adam Pierson, by the way," he said. She accepted that piece of information with a nod and then stepped away from him.

"Goodbye Adam." She turned on her heel and walked away, back towards the rest of her life. She turned around once to see Adam still there by Ianto's grave, lonely now in his grief. She ignored the temptation to head back; she had her family to think about. Also, some mourning just had to be done alone. She wrapped her arms around herself and carried on walking; she doubted she would ever see him again.

*

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

_And I can't hide what's inside,_

_What's in me; My Reign of Scars_

_If I could, then I would change everything. Everything_

 

*

 

The most nauseating thing about being close to the crater that had been the centre of the Hub was not the faint miasma of smoke and death that clung to the tumbled concrete and twisted metal bones of a place that had been almost alive, it was the stench of shattered lives and broken dreams. Siannon didn’t dare to breathe any deeper for fear she would lose her breakfast and if it affected her like this, she shuddered to think how much worse it must be for Gwen. She glanced aside; Gwen had her arms wrapped around herself, one hand hovering protectively over her still–flat stomach, her face streaked with tears and dust and pain. She raised her head and returned Siannon’s gaze.

 "After we lost Tosh and Owen, He said ‘the End is where we start from.’ I have no idea how to start _**anything**_ from this," Gwen said as she nodded at the crater in front of them. "Where do I go from here, Siannon? The rift isn’t going to stop spitting things out just because Torchwood isn’t here any more to keep it in check. What’s going to happen to Cardiff and what the hell can I do about it on my own?" She wiped a hand across her face, smearing the dirt and the tears even more. Siannon bit her lip, too many emotions and echoes of past conversations roiled inside of her for her to immediately say anything but she did step closer to Gwen and wrap an arm around her. As Gwen leaned into her and took another shuddering breath, Siannon made her decision.

 "Who said Torchwood isn’t here any more? I can see it right in front of me."

 "A pregnant woman and a hole in the ground… very impressive, isn’t it?"

 "Actually, I see a pregnant woman, an immortal and a hole in the ground. What do you think of that?"

 "What do I...?" Gwen tilted her head away from Siannon’s shoulder and narrowed her eyes as she stared. Siannon shrugged ingeniously. "Are you offering what I think you’re offering?" Gwen asked.

 "To become part of Torchwood? Yes."

 "Why?" That was a challenge as much as a question, and Siannon treated it as such, giving Gwen’s shoulder a squeeze while she stared unseeing out over the wreckage. 

"I made a promise, Gwen. Ianto might not be here to remind me of it, but I can’t think of a more obvious reminder than that," Siannon indicated the tumbled mess at their feet. "If you’ll accept it, I’ll make you a promise too. You aren’t alone, Gwen; you have Rhys and the baby outside of all this to think about. I can promise to be here for Torchwood as long as you need me." 

"But you didn’t want…" 

"No, you’re right, I didn’t. But that was then, this is now. Underneath the veneer of civility, all immortals are warriors and this is one battle I can’t turn away from and still live with myself. I owe it to you, to Owen and Tosh and Ianto and most of all to that baby you’re carrying. You became my family while I wasn’t looking." It was always the same; mortals had a habit of sneaking themselves into immortal lives until it was unthinkable to do without them. Gaining her Torchwood family had been an unexpected thing of the highest order but family they were, no matter that they’d been shattered by recent events, and she had to do her best to protect what was left.

 "What about Jack – and Adam?"

 "Right now they only need each other. There’s nothing we can do for them. Later… well, if Jack decides to come back to Torchwood the least we can do is make sure there’s one here for him. It’s what Ianto would want too."

 "Yeah, it is." They shared a sad smile before Siannon removed her arm and stepped away from Gwen. Her hand was grabbed unexpectedly by Gwen and subjected to a firm handshake. Siannon raised an eyebrow in query. "Welcome to Torchwood, Siannon O’Niall," Gwen said with the hint of her old grin. "I’m sure we’ll find your – ah – experience very useful."

 "I’m sure you will. So what do you have planned for me, boss?"

 "Medic? Having a doctor who could use a gun was useful. Having an immortal medic who can use a gun and a sword should be even more useful. That’s if you don’t mind? I know you and Owen…"

 "No, it’s a good idea. I was due for a career change soon anyway; when you don’t age you can’t stay too long in one place. Torchwood kind of removes that problem, doesn’t it?"

 "Kind of," Gwen agreed. Siannon watched as Gwen took a deep breath and straightened, turning her back on the destruction of the Plas; she had an inner strength that had to be admired. Like Ianto had been, she was Torchwood to her very soul, even if she didn’t realise it and Siannon couldn’t help but be somewhat in awe of that; it was a long time since some _thing_ rather than some _one_ had meant that much to her. "So," Gwen said with what sounded like forced brightness, "Do you want to come round for dinner? Rhys is cooking."

 "Now that is an offer I won’t refuse." Siannon accepted the offer in the spirit in which it had been made. Jack had had a point – the end was where you had to start from – but it was easier to make that start if you weren’t doing it alone and as she walked away from what used to be Torchwood arm in arm with the woman who would make it rise like a phoenix from the ashes given half a chance, she decided that she would do everything in her power to ensure that Gwen had that chance.

 

Dinner was a wonderful slice of normalcy thanks to Rhys and as the conversation devolved into discussions of where and who and when and how he made dishes vanish and post–it pads and pens appear as if by magic. For a heart–wrenching moment he reminded Siannon of Ianto but he wasn’t and never would be; he was himself and that was fine. By the time Siannon finally left, leaving Gwen drowsing on the couch, she had a folder full of lists and the first steps on her new path laid out before her. What would happen after she took those first steps was anybody’s guess but at least she had somewhere to start. Rhys accompanied her to the door of the flat.

 "You could stay you know, Gwen would like that." Siannon noticed he said nothing about how he felt about it. She patted his arm

 "Thanks for the offer, Rhys, but I’ll have to turn it down. Maybe another time." She tried not to smile at his obvious relief; he was a good man. She was about to step through the door when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned back toward Rhys with a raised eyebrow.

 "I need to say thank you while I still mean it," he said in explanation. "Gwen’s been lost, defeated almost, and there’s been nothing I could do about it. You’ve given her new hope, a new direction and while I’d rather she just walked away from Torchwood once and for all I think we both know that will never happen."

 "I don’t think she’d know how to walk away even if someone showed her the way, not at the moment at least. I appreciate what you’re saying Rhys and I promise I’ll keep as much of an eye on her as she’ll let me. You know Gwen."

 "Yeah, I do."

 Siannon didn’t say goodbye, just patted Rhys’ arm again before she turned once more and walked down the hall away from the still open door. She heard it close with a snick before she’d reached the stairs. She was with Rhys on this one – she doubted he’d be thanking her much in the future.

*

It was some days later when Siannon stood near the crater on the Plas at Gwen's shoulder listening to her explaining very carefully and forthrightly just _why_ UNIT had no right to remove anything found in the wreckage without consulting her first. To Siannon's ears she sounded like she finally, truly believed what she was saying when she told the guard that in the absence of Captain Harkness she was the acting head of Torchwood 3 and as such had the final say on how the wreckage of her base was dealt with. The guard looked nervous, which was gratifying in and of itself, and appeared to be more than happy to pass them along to his superiors.

"I think you frightened him," Siannon commented to Gwen as they were let into the site HQ, a grand name for the series of portakabins nearby.

"Good," murmured Gwen in reply. "It's about time we made them realise that we still mean business. They've had a free rein for too long over _our_ property." Their escort indicated they should wait outside another door while he ducked inside; the door was left open so he could be heard doing nothing more sinister than informing his superior that they'd arrived. He came back out of the door with a relieved look on his face.

"The Brigadier will see you now," he said as he passed them on his way back out. Siannon went through the door first, standing to one side as Gwen entered behind her, then closing the door as Gwen approached the desk. Only then did Siannon pay specific attention to the person behind the desk. The Brigadier was not the older army _man_ she'd been expecting, but a woman with African ancestry, and while she wasn't exactly young any more she was no elder stateswoman either; Siannon could tell she very definitely still regarded herself as a warrior.

"I'm Brigadier Winifred Bambera," she announced, leaning over the desk to shake their hands. "I'm overseeing this operation – and subduing some of the more enthusiastic salvage attempts. Anything we have found so far remains intact, awaiting clearance from yourselves before it is taken elsewhere."

"Doesn't sound like UNIT's normal attitude to Torchwood property," Gwen said.

"It just so happens that I'm not exactly your normal sort of UNIT officer. Plus my orders are from a higher authority than the military – one that has Torchwood's interests at heart. You are to have our assistance as long as you require it, and where you require it. I am here to ensure that order is obeyed. So far most of what we've done has been to make the area as safe as possible, which should enable you ladies to access it to conduct your own searches without undue risk to yourselves."

"That's... reassuring."

"Shall we go?" They both followed brigadier Bambera out of her office, Siannon once again half a step behind and to one side of Gwen; she knew the military types would not miss the implications of the position and that was the way she wanted it.

On approaching the crater more closely, Siannon forced herself to look at it more clinically, to take a step back from the pain that was still – and probably would be for a while – her first reaction to the sight of it. To her eyes, there was little that could be done with what was left of the main hub area beyond stabilising it and hopefully preserving what might be left of the more distant parts. One thing was certain, the city powers were going to want the huge hole in the ground filled in as soon as possible and there was precious little that Torchwood could do about that though it would be her job to ensure that what could be done _was_ done while Gwen talked the authorities into running in circles. Siannon had a feeling that brigadier Bambera would be happy to offer some covert help and decided to look into her background as soon as possible; she'd not been lying when she identified herself as 'not exactly your normal sort of UNIT officer' and Siannon wanted to know why.

 

There was little to be seen or salvaged on that day, but Gwen decided that one of them would pay a daily visit, no matter what, to ensure that nothing was missed despite Bambera's apparent vigilance. That meant that Siannon's other priority – finding Torchwood Cardiff a new home – had now become even more important. She found herself smiling as she walked away from the wreck of the old Hub beside Gwen; the world had better watch out as with two determined women behind it, Torchwood Three would rise again and despite the pain and the sorrow behind the determination, she found herself looking forward to it. This was going to be her life for the foreseeable future and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to make it count.

 

The next day, while Gwen was down at the Hub site with Brigadier Bambera, Siannon endeavoured to put her own affairs into order; she couldn't concentrate on Torchwood if she still had loose ends untied in her previous life. The job wasn't an issue so much – the school was still in uproar after the whole 456 debacle and wouldn't question her resignation and the lack of notice given – but her home in Cumbria was a different matter; it was a place that had to be lived in and she hadn't had the time to find herself a trustworthy caretaker, or to pack that part of her life away until she needed it again. However, she had a network of long-lived and _honourable_ friends who she knew would help out if they could, especially with the added incentive of living on Holy Ground and she had one particular person in mind who would not only make a good caretaker for her home, but would also be a useful extra resource for Torchwood. She was smiling as she dialled the number, pleased when it was picked up almost immediately.

"Rich, I don't suppose you'd be interested in repaying that favour, would you?" Her smile widened at the enthusiastic response. Once again Richard Ryan had proved she could rely on him whenever she needed him. Now she could face forward, giving Torchwood all her attention without worrying about what would sneak up on her from her old life and bite her on the arse; Rich would watch her back, even if it was only metaphorically and that was probably the most reassuring thing about the whole damn situation.

*

The fractured structure of their days continued, but they accomplished enough that Siannon began to feel like they were getting somewhere. She’d found a place near Gwen’s flat to rent so that travelling to the Bay together was the sensible thing to do but at least she wasn’t under Gwen and Rhys' feet constantly. It did mean that Torchwood was essentially run from her lounge, but she'd lived with worse situations and no doubt would again. The dedicated Torchwood mainline number was diverted to a Torchwood mobile, which they took in turns to keep with them, saving at least part of Rhys' sanity. In return he helped out as much as he felt he could.

*

Gwen stared sightless at the computer screen in front of her, eyes too full of tears to make out much beyond the predominant blue colour of the Torchwood screen saver.

"I can’t do this," she said, her voice almost unrecognisable to her ears. "The funeral was bad enough but this… this is like cutting the last piece of him out of existence. It’s too final."

"What happened after Owen and Tosh? Who logged them out?" Siannon asked. Gwen sniffed, and ran her hands over her face, knuckling the tears from her eyes.

"Who do you think?"

"Ah."

"I never envied Ianto this part of his job, tying up loose ends in the wake of destruction – especially when those loose ends were people. And here I am, having to do just that. I don’t think I’ve got the strength."

"Now that I don’t believe for one minute, and I know that Rhys would agree with me. You are one of the strongest people I know, Gwen, or we wouldn’t be sitting here trying to carry on."

"I don’t feel very strong at the moment."

"Neither do I."

"We make a right pair." Gwen turned back to the computer with an air of determination, but her fingers faltered over the keys. "It’s no good, I really _can't_ do this." The swirling patterns on the screen seemed to mock her as she turned away to find Siannon gazing thoughtfully at her. "What?"

"I have full access, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then give me a little while and I’ll do it." Siannon scrambled off the floor – she seemed to prefer the cushions and bean bags to the couch and chairs – and headed out of the room.

"Siannon?" Gwen called out in query after the retreating figure. There was no answer, but there was the distinct clink and clatter of glassware from the direction of the kitchen. She reappeared with an almost full bottle of what looked like whisky and a couple of glasses, setting them down on the low table near the desk. Gwen noticed that the green eyes were suspiciously bright, as if Siannon too was having trouble holding back her tears. It wasn’t a surprise, Siannon and Ianto had become close friends since she’d first appeared in their lives and his loss had hit her just as hard as it had hit Gwen, despite not being an official part of the Torchwood team.

"I’ll do it, but I can’t do it stone cold sober." Siannon explained as she hefted the bottle, pausing before she poured. "Deal?" It sounded like a bloody good idea to Gwen and she nodded. She knew she shouldn’t really be drinking, not with the baby on the way, and Rhys would probably give her hell for it but given the circumstances she thought he’d understand.

"Deal. I’ll let Rhys know I might not make it back."

"You do realise he’ll be round to check up on you?"

Gwen shrugged. "He can join in; he misses Ianto too. Then we can walk each other home…"

 

In the end Gwen didn’t really need Rhys’ supporting arm around her on the way home because she was drunk – Siannon had done enough drinking for all 3 of them and then some – but she needed it all the same. She was ridiculously glad she had Rhys and even though she’d felt guilty for leaving Siannon alone she couldn’t have stayed, no matter what she had intended. After tonight she needed to get away from Torchwood and Rhys was her real escape, just as he always had been. Gwen unsuccessfully tried to avoid the thought that if Jack never came back, Siannon would more than likely be doing the same for her as she had done for Ianto tonight, and it struck her that the ones who died – the ones who never got to say goodbye – were actually the lucky ones. Rhys held her tight as she cried herself to sleep, staying mercifully silent.

*

Siannon leant on the railing and watched the sun descend in its fiery, temporary death over Cardiff, turning the water of the Bay a molten bronze. Tomorrow would be a new dawn in more than one way. Gwen was silent beside her, lost in her thoughts for the time being; Siannon was grateful for that as her own were also in a whirl. So far their strange partnership seemed to be working; Gwen was dealing with personnel issues, letting the Powers that Be know that Torchwood might be down – somewhat battered and bruised to say the least – but it certainly wasn't out. She was also putting out careful feelers for other team members and maintaining useful contacts with organisations such as the police, while Siannon dealt with logistics. They needed a home after all, even if it was only a temporary one and Siannon was of the opinion that the best thing for Torchwood Cardiff would be to have the potential for more than one base of operations, something she had more than a few ideas about.

Eventually Gwen found her voice.

"A Warehouse." It wasn't exactly phrased as a question though Siannon could tell there was a question there, as well as a kind of tired inevitability.

"It'll do for now," Siannon replied with determined casualness.

"Won't be the first time we've made do with a warehouse." There was a wistful tone to Gwen's voice, and a hint of the underlying pain that never seemed to be far from the surface these days. Siannon sighed.

"Probably won't be the last either. Useful things, warehouses," she said – pleased when her comment teased a smile out of Gwen; they could both probably stand to smile a little more. Gwen turned to lean her back against the railings, casting her eyes towards the site of the warehouse.

"We're really going to do this, Siannon, aren't we? A new Torchwood."

Siannon glanced up at Gwen. "Did you ever really doubt it?"

"Of course I did! But now... it actually seems possible. It's amazing."

"You're amazing," Siannon said with a smile. "Without you there wouldn't _be_ the possibility of a new Torchwood."

Gwen leaned over and gently punched Siannon on the upper arm.

" _We're_ amazing as I couldn't do it without you."

"OK, _**we're**_ amazing. I'll give you that." They shared a grin as Gwen moved away to sit on a bench not far away. Siannon glanced back at the sunset, the sun was almost gone now. Impulsively, she closed her eyes and raised her voice in an old song to salute the end of the day only to have it cut short by an unexpected gust of a breeze, a wordless cry from Gwen and a loud splat as something hit the ground behind her. Siannon spun round to find Gwen gazing into the sunset with the hugest grin on her face.

"That was Myfanwy," Gwen said as she walked closer.

"It was? That's brilliant! What did she... oh." Siannon caught sight of the very dead, very fresh fish that had been dropped on the ground. Gwen was still grinning as she poked at the offending fish with a toe.

"I think she was giving us a present."

"That was very thoughtful of her. Now all we've got to do is catch her – again." Neither Siannon nor Gwen had been around when Myfanwy first arrived through the rift, but they had both heard the story – though Siannon was fairly certain that the version she'd had from Ianto was the more accurate, right down to the desperation he'd felt at the time. She bet Gwen had heard Jack's version, which was almost confirmed by Gwen's bright laugh.

"The first job for _our_ Torchwood!"

Siannon grinned in response, Gwen's enthusiasm was infectious. "It is kind of appropriate and it'll be good to have her round the place, despite the mess."

"We could make it part of the selection criteria... Trial by pterodactyl poop."

What made it so funny was the way Gwen managed to keep a completely straight face and Siannon couldn't help but dissolve into giggles at the thought. It did have an element of merit though; anyone who couldn't cope with a relatively tame pterodactyl was unlikely to be able to cope with a weevil or a hoix or any of the other weird and wonderful things that fell through the rift. Still giggling, she followed Gwen back to where they'd left their cars, feeling strangely optimistic about the days ahead rather than overwhelmed like she had been; Myfanwy had always had the ability to make her smile and it seemed that hadn't changed.

*

Operation Myfanwy, as Siannon laughingly referred to it, was made somewhat easier by her discovery that the tracking device that Ianto had insisted on implanting into her – after one too many close calls with irate sheep farmers – was still working. It hadn’t stopped Myfanwy’s penchant for an occasional woolly snack but according to Ianto it had enabled them to be a lot quicker on the uptake that she’d sneaked off for one. Easier however, did not make it easy, tracking device or no.

 Siannon's feet pounded down the pavement, her breath coming in hard pants. Although she was trained for both speed and endurance, it was for the less prosaic art of the blade rather than running around late–night Cardiff after a thrice–damned flying dinosaur, and it was bloody hard work chasing down something that didn’t seem to want to be caught. Fortunately for everyone concerned Myfanwy seemed to prefer hunting at night, and as yet there had been no reported sightings from the public; but even so they needed to get her back quickly. Siannon paused in her mad dash for a moment, partly to get her breath back and partly to await further directions from Gwen who was coordinating the whole thing from the relative comfort of the Torchwood warehouse base.

 "300 metres on your right," Gwen said over the comms. "She seems to have come to rest; maybe it's her nesting site."

 "Roger that," Siannon replied and she could practically hear Gwen's grin at the military term. Maybe she’d been spending too much time with Bambera and the other UNIT liaisons, she shrugged, she could think of worse people with whom to be spending it. Chocolate firmly in hand, Siannon approached the location Gwen had given her; but once she saw the building that Myfanwy had taken residence in she stopped and began laughing. It took several attempts for her to stop laughing long enough to understand that Gwen was trying to say something.

 "Siannon? Care to let me in on the joke?"

 "Sorry, Gwen. It's just, I think I've found our new HQ," she replied. "The building Myfanwy's nesting in, it's one of my churches. I’d bought it anyway as I knew it would be perfect for me if it didn’t meet Torchwood’s needs but I reckon that if it gets the Myfanwy seal of approval it belongs to Torchwood after all."

 Siannon heard Gwen chuckle on the other end of the comms.

 "Guess I should come and have a reccie then," she said before signing off.

 Siannon looked down at the chocolate in her hands and smiled in relief. Despite her assurances to Gwen, she hadn't been entirely sure that she'd be able to catch Myfanwy on her own. At least now that wouldn't be a problem; one of the advantages of already being the owner of the building concerned was that she happened to have a key, which meant that reaching Myfanwy where she was perched on the roof would be the easiest job of the night. It also meant she would have to start thinking about how to make the old church of St James a home for Torchwood, instead of a home for herself – or another immortal – as she’d planned.

*

 With Myfanwy back on board as it were, Siannon began to feel like they were getting somewhere, although she had precious little time to spend on what she felt were Torchwood specific issues as she dealt with trying to make a base out of an old church and bringing herself up to speed with some essential medical training. She found the latter infinitely more difficult – she already had the contacts in place for the church conversion because of her business and many of them were well used to secrecy – hacking into the necessary NHS databases was problematical at times and she found she missed Tosh more than ever. In the meantime, Gwen was left to deal with UNIT and the Torchwood site. They were both thankful that the rift, and Cardiff’s resident Weevil population, remained quiescent.

Siannon felt like she was neck deep in paperwork – both physical and electronic – when Gwen returned from the Bay one evening but when she was given no more than a distracted ‘hi’ she turned around to find Gwen staring thoughtfully into space, clutching a small box tightly to her chest.

"What is it?" Siannon asked gently. Gwen didn’t immediately answer but hugged the box closer making Siannon wonder just what it contained.

"Do you trust UNIT?"

Siannon frowned; it wasn’t exactly what she’d expected to hear.

"I trust Bambera and her immediate team," she said with conviction. "The rest? Probably no further than I could throw them but as they’re all terrified of her they’re kept in line." Gwen loosened her hold on the box, but didn’t let go of it as she came to perch alongside Siannon on the desk.

"What do you think makes Bambera and her team so special?"

Gwen didn't sound like she was just asking for an opinion as far as Siannon was concerned; she sounded like she needed to understand. It seemed the fact that Bambera was special wasn't up for debate, but the reason behind _why_ she was special was of utmost importance. As Siannon had been of the same mind she wasn't surprised that Gwen appeared to feel that way.

"You knew she’d been in contact with Martha?" Siannon asked; Gwen nodded her reply. "Did you know why though?"

"I didn’t ask; I trust Martha. I assumed Bambera wanted a few recommendations of people that might be more sympathetic toward Torchwood."

"That’s true as far as it goes, but I did a little digging and found out it went deeper than that." Siannon tilted her chair back and looked up at Gwen with a smile. The box had found its way to the desk, but Gwen still had one hand resting on it in an almost protective manner. "Do you know her husband’s name?"

"Bambera's? What’s that got to do with anything?" Gwen's face crinkled in a puzzled frown, but she didn't move her hand from the box.

"You’d be surprised," Siannon replied, with a smile and a raised eyebrow. Gwen sighed, folded her arms and half perched on the desk beside the mysterious box.

"So enlighten me then, just who is Winifred Bambera’s husband?" She asked, managing to sound both bored and interested at the same time. Siannon waited for a moment before continuing.

"Ancelyn ap Gwalchmai."

"Gwalchmai. GWALCHMAI?" Gwen's voice rose, but stopped short of becoming a disbelieving shriek – just. "You mean _**Arthurian**_ Gwalchmai?"

"So it would seem, though not from our universe."

"How the hell did a UNIT Brigadier manage to bump into him?" That was the same question Siannon had initially, but for different reasons; she'd wanted to know if she would be meeting him at swordpoint – or not – in a fight for her head. It turned out not, luckily for her, though the truth of Ancelyn had turned out to be even stranger than immortality. She told Gwen the important part of what she had discovered.

"It was Jack’s Doctor; but not exactly Jack’s Doctor as we know him."

"So what does a time–travelling, face-changing alien have to do with the sons of legendary Arthurian knights?"

 "Apparently he’s Merlin – or he will be – in a different universe." Siannon had been reassured by the alternate twist, she'd had trouble equating what she knew about Jack's Doctor, despite his sometimes Machiavellian tendencies, with the version of Merlin she'd heard about in her youth.

"Why am I not surprised? It makes a twisted kind of sense in a way – everything he seems to have a hand in gets complicated to say the least. That explains Bambera; what about the rest of them?"

"Most of them are simply good people, but her two aides… well, Ross Jenkins almost died defending the ATMOS factory from the Sontarans. He didn’t because a certain time–travelling alien had planted a device on him that defused some of the power of the shot that was fired at him, just enough to give him a fighting chance at surviving, which was all he needed."

"That probably made him more loyal to the Doctor than to UNIT, I would have thought."

"Exactly."

"What about Beth Sullivan? I thought her parents were UNIT personnel."

"They were – but they were also both companions of the Doctor at different times."

"How did you find out all of this? None of it is in the databases – official and otherwise – I checked."

"I have to admit I resorted to rather underhand tactics."

"Oh? That sounds very Torchwood of you."

"I thought so too, I was rather pleased with myself."

"So what ‘underhand tactics’ did you use?"

"I asked them nicely."

"You asked them nicely." Gwen didn't sound terribly convinced and Siannon chuckled.

"Uh–huh. Over a couple of very large whiskies…"

"And?"

"It seems that a message had been sent, via Brigadier Lethbridge–Stewart, that we were to be assisted in any way."

"So that’s who Bambera meant when she said her orders were from a higher authority. I thought she was talking about The Queen."

"Bambera _was_ appointed by The Queen; I have a feeling Elizabeth R might have received a message too."

"Oh that just takes the bloody biscuit, that does. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen when Iant… when we needed him and now he’s condescending to send us messages. Lovely. You know, I don’t think I care any more. The important thing is that Bambera and her team remain willing to help; that’s what we need after all."

"Remain willing?" Siannon queried.

"Yeah. Bambera gave me this today; seems she found it after one of the ‘normal’ UNIT people had passed it by." Gwen picked up the box from the desk and passed it to Siannon, who took it off her somewhat gingerly. It was obviously something important judging by how protective Gwen had been about it, but beyond that Siannon had no idea what might be enclosed, though her brain helpfully threw a few suggestions at her, all wrong as it turned out. She opened the box cautiously to find the coral from Jack’s desk in the Hub nestling inside and obviously wrapped very carefully against damage. Siannon couldn’t help but smile.

"How did they miss this? It isn’t exactly small."

"Now there’s the thing," Gwen said. "Bambera tells me it just appeared out of nowhere when she drew close – ‘phased into existence’ were her exact words – and if you scan it," Gwen demonstrated, "you’ll notice that it’s giving off a ridiculous amount of Rift Energy."

"Which implies it was hiding in the rift, and is sentient." Siannon could have sworn the coral glowed briefly at her words, but she put it down to imagination when Gwen didn’t appear to notice anything. "It explains why Ianto used to wash it in tea occasionally; he obviously knew what it wanted."

"That means he knew what it was, which isn’t really surprising I suppose considering whose desk it lived on." Gwen sighed. "I really miss him, even more than Jack if that’s possible."

"You and me both. We could always go and tell him our good news, you know."

"What?"

"First Myfanwy, now the coral; I think that’s good news and worth sharing. We can go and have a coffee and a chat."

"You’re suggesting we go to Ianto’s _grave_ …"

"With a coffee…"

"And tell him about it?"

"Yup. And Tosh – don't forget she's right there next to him."

"Siannon, you’re brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?"

Siannon didn’t answer that out loud, but she was fairly certain Gwen knew anyway; she’d had no option but to learn how to deal with loss given her life span and sometimes simple things were what enabled a person to cope. She also didn't mention the empty grave – empty that is except for his stethoscope and white coat – that was all they'd been able to give Owen.

 

*

 

As if the finding of Jack's Coral had been a catalyst, things started to coalesce. Siannon felt like she was living off caffeine fumes she was so busy but the courses she managed to hack herself into attending were doing their job so being a medic for the team – if they ever managed to *have* a team – was no longer as empty a title as it had been when she accepted Gwen's offer as they stood together by the shattered remnants of the hub just a few weeks before. The renovation and alteration of St James' church was still in early stages so a large proportion of their current warehouse home had been given over to Myfanwy, who appeared to be fairly content with the arrangement though she paid regular night time visits to her roost on the church tower giving further credence to the rumours of animate gargoyles and ghosts, which Siannon and Gwen did their best to encourage – the more distance people kept from the old church, the better for Torchwood.

Not long after the discovery of Jack's Coral, Siannon actually found the time to visit the site of the Hub. The Plas had begun to look more like a building site than a bomb site, despite the fact that there was still rubble everywhere, which eased some of the pain she still felt whenever she looked at the broken stump of the water tower surrounded by scaffolding and the tumbled mess below it.

She was sitting near the old Pierhead building, its stoic redbrick presence at her back a contrast to the ruins before her when someone unexpectedly sat beside her. She glanced over and was about to put some distance between them when she realised that she recognised the face from Gwen's possible Torchwood personnel list, although her hair was now cropped close instead of in braids. She must have recently arrived and Siannon bet Gwen had been showing her what *used* to be Torchwood.

"Lois Habiba?" Siannon asked, just as Lois announced

"I'm Lois Habiba."

"Did Gwen send you over?" Lois shook her head.

"I needed a break. I never realised… there's just… I didn't expect this amount of destruction. It was too much to stand any longer."

Lois sounded terribly young and innocent but Siannon did not feel that much inclined to extend any sympathy toward her; the girl was here of her own accord and if she was going to be part of their new Torchwood she was going to have to get used to death, destruction and pain.

"Then it's probably a good thing you didn't see it before UNIT tidied it up a bit," Siannon replied. "It was worse, much worse."

"I think what hurts the most is that Mr Frobisher seemed so *normal* but to authorise this destruction," Lois waved in the direction of the ruined water tower, "is so far outside my idea of normal that I have trouble getting my head round it."

"Welcome to our world, Lois. You stick with us and you'll find that normal is something that happens to other people but we'll fight tooth and nail for their lives to stay like that."

"That's why I'm here. What I saw – what I _did_ – destroyed normal forever for me. I don't want other people to learn the same way and if I can do something about it, I will, even though I'm only a PA." Lois nodded fiercely to herself and Siannon understood why Gwen had offered Lois a place in Torchwood on only a few minutes acquaintance. Lois, and her determination to keep the world normal for others despite what had happened to her, was just what they needed. As for being only a PA, a good proportion of what Siannon had been doing would be done much more efficiently by someone like Lois; they needed her.

At that moment, Siannon's phone vibrated in her pocket; it was a message from Gwen – "if you're happy with Lois, take her to meet Myfanwy; she checks out". Siannon smiled; trial by pterodactyl – or pteranodon – would be underway very soon. She slid the phone back into her pocket.

"So, Lois, you've seen where Torchwood was, are you ready to see where we are… and where we will be?" Siannon asked. Lois gave her a startling and beautiful smile.

"No time like the present!" Lois said. Siannon stood up and dusted off her jeans, Lois did the same.

"In that case, Lois Habiba, welcome to Torchwood. I'm Siannon O'Niall and we're going to be seeing a hell of a lot of each other." Lois took Siannon's outstretched hand with no hesitation and gave her a firm and formal handshake.

"I'll look forward to it," Lois answered. Siannon wasn't sure how long it would take to change that outlook of Lois' – or if it ever would change – but they were ready to take the first step on that path. She took the stairs up to ground level by the Pierhead building at a jog, her braid bouncing on her shoulders, aware of Lois only a heartbeat behind her, already a comfortable presence at her back. Time would tell if she stayed that way.

*

Lois and Myfanwy took to each other instantly, and another piece of the Torchwood puzzle slid firmly into place. It didn't take long for Siannon to wonder how they ever did without her; she had an organisational talent that was second to none. If both she and Gwen were happy that Lois made a hopeless cup of coffee, Siannon felt that was understandable, besides, they'd been drinking tea more often than not in recent weeks; the smell of a decent cup of coffee could bring tears to their eyes when they were least expecting it.

It was Lois who had the idea of building a secure underground storage area at the warehouse using the people from the church reconstruction so UNIT wouldn't know about it; Lois who was an expert at phone related diversionary tactics while being scrupulously polite and most importantly it was Lois who discovered that Agent Johnson, one of her team members and a land rover had gone missing – AWOL in fact – after she'd resigned her position as a paramilitary protector of the state with a forthright denouncement of those in power. With that news, they all watched their backs a lot more closely, but no new threat emerged from the darkness.

*

More often than not, especially after the arrival of Lois, Gwen left the direct supervision of clearing the Hub rubble to Beth Sullivan; the UNIT grunts were almost as terrified of her as they were of Bambera and she had the added ability of seeming to have eyes in the back of her head that could spot any potential misdemeanour plus Gwen was getting busier with real Torchwood work as the resident weevil population – and the rift – became more active again. Occasionally though, Gwen would brave the precarious path down to what had been the heart of the Hub and was now ground zero. She was glad that there was so little that was recognisable about the place or she didn't think she would have been able to stand it. She was always granted a respectful amount of space when she did visit in person and no matter what the reason she was grateful for it. This time she had a feeling, about what, she wasn't entirely sure but a good copper never completely discounted gut feelings so she stood in place for a moment, near the wreck of what had been the lift and possibly the very spot Jack had stood when the Hub was destroyed. The glint of water caught her eyes and she realised that the tidal outflow from the base of the water tower had either been unblocked or repaired. As she took a step closer a different sort of glint captured her attention and she stepped down into the shallow water, crouching so she could ease her hand into a gap that was still clogged with rubble – and something else. She held her breath as she scrabbled through the tightly packed rubble with careful fingers, the water chilling her feet as it seeped into her boots, hopeful and terrified at the same time. Finally, her fingers found purchase on what she thought she'd spotted; it wasn't stone, in fact it didn't feel like any material that was found on earth. Slowly, she drew it out, its entrance into the light heralded by a small cascade of rubble. It lay heavy in her palm and she clasped her fingers around it, not wanting the tiny blinking blue light to attract attention. The strap was completely gone but apart from a couple of scratches the device that Jack had always worn on his wrist seemed to be undamaged, as indestructible as its owner. She straightened, carefully secreting the device into her pocket before she stepped out of the water. She no longer cared that her feet were wet – her face was in the same condition – the weight in her pocket burned through her like fire and the only thing that could be more precious would be to find her fallen colleagues standing behind her when she turned round. She might not be able to help Jack directly, but restoring the device to its former glory – within her ability to do so – was something she _could_ do, and be glad about, even if it was something she did not want to share with Siannon. There was a spring in her step as she made her way out of the remnants of the Hub that had been missing for too long.

*

Gwen sighed, rubbing her tired and gritty eyes until she saw spots. No matter how she turned things around to look at them, there was no way her Torchwood could be run as Jack had run it; they didn't have the resources. No Hub meant no archives, no vaults, no alien incinerator and no cryo storage never mind the sheer physical lack of space. They'd been lucky in that both the Rift and the resident Weevil population had been quiet since the devastation of the Hub, Ianto's death and Jack's disappearance, though both the weevils and rift were showing signs of becoming more active again. Things weren’t back to what Gwen regarded as ‘normal’ levels of activity but she didn't kid herself that would last, not in Cardiff. Holding aliens against the time they could be released or sent home was going to be a thing of the past; Weevils at least they would generally be able to persuade back into the sewers, but the rest, the ones that were incompatible with living peacefully on earth would have to be dealt with ruthlessly; Torchwood would have to begin using a shoot to kill policy again and that hurt, another scar to add to the collection she'd amassed in the last couple of years. The door of the office creaked as it opened and she half turned as Siannon walked in, looking as tired as Gwen felt.

"Come on Gwen, call it a day," she said. "It will wait until tomorrow."

"I know. I…" Gwen let out another sigh. "I'm just sick of death of killing." She stared blankly at the computer screen for a second, trying not to see Susie and Owen and Tosh and Ianto. There was a rustle as Siannon shifted some papers out of the way to perch on the desk in front of her, in the same way she'd done with the desk in Jack's office.

"We don't have any other option, you know that, but if it's any consolation you aren't the only one who would prefer that not to be the case."

"I just wish…"

"If wishes were fishes…"

"Siannon!" Gwen gave Siannon's knee a playful slap and leaned back in her chair.

"On the upside, I've found an incinerator that we can use – besides the one at Flat Holm. While it isn't in the city centre, it's not so far out that it can't be useful. The best thing is that it's run by someone with Torchwood connections."

"Oh? Torchwood employees often don't remember the place if they live long enough to leave voluntarily." Gwen knew she sounded bitter but how could she not? In her time with Torchwood she'd lost three dear friends, one of them twice over, to death.

"Not employees, well, not just employees."

"Now you have me intrigued." Gwen was interested in spite of herself, the spark of curiosity burning through the pain of loss. Siannon had probably counted on that.

"The current owner is locally born, but one of his parents is an immigrant – a Torchwood immigrant – though the other is a former employee. Ianto was in touch with them regularly; he found their story interesting."

"He would." Gwen surreptitiously wiped her eyes; they'd unaccountably begun to water. She wasn't crying, she *wasn't*, her eyes were just tired. Siannon had moved away to give her some semblance of privacy, for which she was grateful. "So," Gwen sniffed. "Just how does the child of an alien and an ex-Torchwood employee happen to have control of an incinerator powerful enough for us to use?"

"Animal crematorium; it's all above board. Having said that it has been put to use for the disposal of non-terrestrial remains previously."

"What?!"

"Our half alien friend is the equivalent of a funeral director, kind of. His parents knew there was a sizeable non-terrestrial population and that not all of them would live long under earth normal conditions. They provided a resource to ensure that other non-terrestrials had the option of being able to have their own death rites and rituals while reducing the risk of someone with alien physiology being discovered while going through 'normal' channels. Having said that, there is a regular funeral director who offers a discreet service for those who aren't entirely 'normal' – closed coffins are a speciality."

"Another ex-employee?"

"Not exactly, It's an old family firm but they had a close encounter with aliens – and Jack's Doctor – in 1869 and have provided a 'special' service ever since, advertised only by word of mouth."

"How did you discover all this?"

"I didn't, Lois did; she has a knack."

"Doesn't she just, we're lucky to have her." Gwen sniffed again, this time her eyes really were stinging through tiredness alone. "That solves our disposal problem at least but I still wish it wasn't necessary."

"What about transport? I know Rhys was looking into something."

"Oh Rhys has come up trumps, he has. We should have our brand spanking new – and discreet – van fairly soon now."

"We'll never fit in a van comfortably," Siannon said.

"Rhys thought of that, this one apparently has extra seats, tinted windows, lots of space in the back and is way less conspicuous than the SUV."

"That's a turn up for the books, isn't it? Torchwood being subtle…"

"I don't think driving round in a bloody huge black van is going to be exactly subtle, just a bit less obvious. I'll kind of miss the SUV though."

"I know what you mean; I doubt the police will though."

"Oh I don't know, Andy used to say it was quite a useful indicator of trouble it being so obvious and all. I wonder what he'll think of the van," said Gwen.

"I'm sure we'll find out eventually. Another day. Right now we really should be going."

"OK, OK. Look, I'm getting ready." Gwen made an obvious job of shutting down her computer and grabbing her stuff but didn't miss Siannon's chuckle as she left the office; usually it was her doing the mother-henning, not Siannon.

 

*

 

It was still dark when the insistent shrilling of the Torchwood phone woke Siannon from what had been the best sleep she'd had in ages. She groaned and reached out to grab the damn thing off her bedside table and as much as she wanted to swear and shriek like a Donegal fishwife at whoever had the temerity to wake her at such a god–awful early hour she managed a relatively normal sounding, if curt,

"Yes?"

"I think you'd better get here, and fast. All of you." It was Bambera, which filled Siannon with dread. Bambera rarely called them on the Torchwood phone, and she'd never rung them out of hours before. There was some sort of disturbance at the other end of the line and Siannon heard Bambera's voice crack like a whip of calm into the commotion, "Stand Down!" A breath later she was back on the phone. "Sod the getting here fast, you need to be here _**now**_. We have a situation." Siannon was scrambling for her clothes before the call terminated. Anything a brigadier of Bambera's experience called 'a situation' had to be dire. She banged on Lois' bedroom door on her way to the bathroom, thankful for once that Lois hadn't found somewhere else to stay yet. "Lois, get your arse into gear, we're going out. Now!" There was a sleepy sounding complaint and Siannon caught the word 'early' in the jumble of words but nothing else. "I know it's frigging early, I was asleep too. Just get moving, we're going to the Hub. I'm calling Gwen."

They were in the car and hurtling down the road to Gwen's place in about 5 minutes, pulling up outside her flat just as she came flying out of the front door, a worried looking Rhys peering around the door after her.

"What's the problem?" Gwen asked as soon as the car door had slammed shut on her and they sped away.

"Bambera didn't say," Siannon replied. "For all I know she could have a mutiny on her hands, it didn't sound good."

"A mutiny? Bambera?" Lois sounded as disbelieving of that theory as Siannon knew they all felt. She shrugged as she jumped a red light and took the corner way too fast, sending Gwen slithering across the back seat.

"We'll find out when we get there," she commented.

"If we get there in one piece," Gwen muttered from the back. "I think you must have taken lessons from Jack. Next time at least give me the chance to do up the bloody seatbelt!"

*

Gwen hung onto the seat as Siannon ignored all the warning signs, bumped up the kerb and drove the car over the pavement in an effort to get as close as possible to the temporary UNIT HQ that sat uneasily beside the ruins of the Hub. She stomped on the brakes and while the Citroën didn't do anything as undignified as stopping with a squeal of tyres – it had been Ianto's car after all, before he bequeathed it to Siannon, so Gwen wouldn't have expected anything less – it did come to an instant standstill within a hairsbreadth of the entrance. Gwen scrambled out of the back of the car even before the engine was switched off, Siannon close behind her. Lois followed more sedately, locked the car and handed the keys to Siannon.

"Glad you could join us," Beth said from her position guarding the entrance to the UNIT site.

"Where?" Gwen asked brusquely.

"Just go on in." Gwen strode past Beth without a second glance, aware of Siannon in her supporting position at her shoulder. The door to Bambera's office was only ajar, concealing what was on the other side, so Gwen approached cautiously, despite the fact she couldn't hear anything obviously untoward. She nudged the door open with her foot.

One of the first things Gwen noticed was that all of the UNIT personnel were from the ranks of those that Bambera had personally vetted and trusted; those with 'old school' values as she put it.

Bambera herself stood casually by her desk, gun in hand and with the safety off from what Gwen could tell but very carefully _not_ aimed at the man with the silvering tawny hair who sat in the chair behind her desk with a face like thunder. He wasn't wearing a uniform but something about him screamed military to Gwen. On the other side of the room Ross Jenkins stood with another of his UNIT colleagues. They both had their guns trained on the remaining two occupants. Gwen didn't recognise the man with the shaved head and strong features who was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, not an easy thing to accomplish with a gun pointed in your face. The other person she recognised only too well, the face had haunted too many of her nightmares for her not to. A glut of emotions flashed through her – anger, revulsion, bitterness, pain and denial – until she at last settled into a weary sort of resignation and took refuge in cool civility; Ianto would have been proud of her.

"Agent Johnson." Gwen nodded in greeting, the nod was returned.

"Ms Cooper," Johnson replied, with icy politeness.

The guns didn't waver a millimetre and Gwen sighed.

"Oh put those bloody guns down, will you. She's blown this place up once; if she wanted to again, guns wouldn't be enough to stop her." Gwen waited as both Ross and the other UNIT guy flicked a glance toward Bambera before they lowered their guns, though they didn't holster them. Before she even had the chance to take another breath there was a muffled curse from behind her and the scrape of a chair.

"Ancelyn!" Bambera snapped and all fell silent again. Gwen supposed she would have a formal introduction later, but it did explain his military bearing; the guy was a bloody knight. She took a step toward Johnson and the person she presumed was the missing member of Johnson's former team. Gwen swept her gaze over Johnson, cool and calculating; Johnson didn't flinch and returned her gaze impassively.

"You went AWOL," Gwen said.

"I did."

"Why? And why are you here?" Gwen asked. Johnson glanced at the man beside her who shrugged.

"I gave the state my loyalty; they betrayed me. In the process of that they betrayed the whole damn country. I regard my loyalty as a precious commodity, but it has to be earned and my previous employers do *not* deserve it, so I left when they tried to persuade me otherwise. The only person I now believe to be worthy of that loyalty is you, so here I am."

"And why should I accept it? You tried to destroy us, Johnson, and you damn near well succeeded."

"But I didn't, did I? None of us would be here otherwise. Torchwood, and its determination to protect the people still exists, you are living proof of that. I want to be a part of it."

"Give me one good reason why I should believe you."

"I don't have any, except for my word."

"I can't deny we would find you useful, but I don't trust you. Trust also has to be earned and the only thing stopping me from allowing Ancelyn and Siannon to cut you into tiny pieces is that I will _**never**_ forget that day, so I remember the look on your face when I showed you the truth."

Judging by the blanching of Johnson's face and the tightening around her mouth, she also remembered it too well, unless she was a very good actor which was something Gwen had not completely discounted.

*

Siannon held her place at Gwen's shoulder in as quiet and composed a fashion as possible. Considering she was not actually facing an immortal she found the presence of her sword at her back extremely comforting, not that anyone save Gwen, and possibly Anceyln, was aware of the sword. As if her thought had triggered something, Ancelyn's voice dripped into the silence of the room, the formal cadences of his speech almost echoing in the stillness.

"You, little man who hides, did you ever witness the destruction your mistress wrought in her misplaced zeal?" There was no interruption so Siannon assumed Bambera had managed to emphasise the importance of not killing Johnson or her sidekick to Ancelyn.

The still nameless man looked up with a fierce expression on his face, though his posture remained at ease.

"My name is Simon Foster and I am not hiding. If I was hiding, why would I be here?"

Siannon couldn't see Ancelyn from where she was standing, and she didn't want to take her eyes off Johnson for a second to change that but she could imagine the sort of not-smile that would be decorating his face at Foster's declaration.

"Well then, Simon Foster, do you want to see? Mayhap you will find it illuminating," Ancelyn said. There was the sound of a chair being moved and Ancelyn's footsteps leaving the room.

"I don't think that is an invitation you may safely refuse, Foster. Off you pop." Bambera seemed almost dismissive but Siannon knew that wasn't the case at all and if Foster had half an ounce of sense he would realise that himself. He was waved out by Ross' colleague – the one whose name Siannon could never remember – and followed by Beth.

"What was the point of that?" Johnson challenged as they left the room. "You've just split your forces and if we were planning anything you would have just made our job a whole lot easier."

"I don't think so," Bambera replied. "Ancelyn has a passionate hatred for what you did here; it disgusts him to his very core. In his eyes it was an act of extreme dishonour which might not sound like much to you, but to him honour is everything; if you have no honour, you have no soul and are little more than dirt to be trampled underfoot. I think he'll give Foster an excellent alternate viewpoint to the one he already has about what was accomplished with your actions. And as for you, young lady…"

Despite her best intentions, Siannon couldn't help herself and had to stifle a slightly hysterical giggle. She doubted anyone had called Johnson a 'young lady' since she was about 12 and Bambera was probably the only person in the room who could get away with it, for all that Siannon had an age advantage of over 1000 years.

"Siannon!" Gwen said with a disgusted hiss as she elbowed Siannon, hard, in the side. Nevertheless Siannon was pleased to see – and feel – that the level of tension in the room had subsided a little; sometimes her sense of the ridiculous did her a favour, though there were plenty of times it hadn't.

"If you've quite finished?" Bambera asked Siannon as she came into her line of sight. Siannon nodded unapologetically, but remained silent. "In my opinion, Johnson, you're one of the few people who deserves to be incarcerated in the UNIT high security prison but I suspect that these two ladies might surprise you. I would count yourself lucky, if I were you, that you aren't dealing solely with me and mine; we would not be so forgiving." With that Bambera turned on her heel and indicated to Ross that they should leave the room.

"Do you have anything to add to your little speech on loyalty now that we're alone, Johnson? This is it," Gwen gestured at herself, Siannon and Lois. "This is Torchwood. You could bring us down completely with as little effort as you'd take to squash a fly."

Johnson smiled which was an odd looking expression on her face.

"I don't think so," she said. "You are a lot more resourceful than I think you'd like me to realise. Why else would *she*," Johnson pointed to Siannon, "be wearing a sword? Swords are a little anachronistic in this day and age wouldn't you say?" Siannon returned the smile with a cold one of her own, accepting the unspoken challenge in the process, and drew her sword. Johnson didn't flinch as the point came to rest against her chest, directly over her heart.

"Anachronistic, maybe, but you're still just as dead if you're stabbed or shot," Siannon said as if she were discussing nothing more important than the weather. "And you _would_ be dead if I wanted you to be, believe me," she added.

"Oh I do. And I believe you will make true that threat if you think at any point that I have another agenda. Until then, I believe that Cooper will accept us at face value while you watch us like a hawk for any misstep. I can assure you that neither I nor Foster has another agenda, not any more; we burned our bridges in coming here."

"And what makes you think that, Johnson?" Siannon asked warily.

"The fact that I'm still alive. If Cooper wanted me dead, I'd be dead, either by your hand or hers."

"True." Siannon stepped away and re-sheathed her sword.

"So?"

Gwen sighed and stepped forward, walking a full circle around Johnson before she answered.

"We will use you, but we aren't going to trust you. Not yet. There are too many unanswered questions." She glanced at Siannon over her shoulder. "Siannon, you're going to need a bigger house," she commented as she turned and swept out of the room.

Siannon took unholy delight in Johnson's disgusted splutter of outrage at the prospect of the unwelcome house share but she didn't share the surprise, she'd guessed it was coming; it was the easiest way to keep them under surveillance. She wasn't sure Lois would appreciate it, but then Lois could always get a place of her own; hell, she could stay right where she was when Siannon moved out with her unexpected and hostile entourage.

"You'll get used to me," Siannon said to Johnson. "And while you may never get to like me I'm sure we'll develop a healthy respect for each other's skills. Just be certain that if you do anything to harm a single hair of Gwen Cooper's – or her husband's – head, I will cut you down where you stand without hesitation or a single regret, faster than you can draw breath." She drew close to Johnson, close enough that the other woman had to look up in order to maintain eye contact. "Do you understand?"

"Completely."

"Good. Now don't forget it, not for one minute. I have the capacity to be either the person you want at your side or your worst nightmare; the choice is yours." She didn't allow Johnson the chance to reply before she turned to follow Gwen out of the room, leaving Lois to follow after her.

 

The return from the Hub ruins was made in silence; Siannon drove them all after Gwen had insisted they would pick up Johnson's Land Rover the next day. Lois let them all into the house as Siannon hauled what luggage Johnson and Foster had brought with them from the boot of the car before she eventually followed, leaving the bags in the hall once she'd shut and locked the front door. Lois had led Johnson and Foster into the lounge and Siannon headed in that direction, coming to rest as she leant on the door frame and watched them do nothing more startling than have a cup of tea. She realised that Johnson and Foster looked worn out; going AWOL obviously hadn't been a cakewalk for them.

Gwen came to stand beside her. "Do you think we've done the right thing?" She asked. Siannon glanced once more at the weary figures sipping tea as Lois fussed around them, and sighed as Gwen linked her arm and leant against her.

"We're better off knowing where they are and my instinct tells me we're going to need them, despite the fact that part of me wants to make her hurt, and hurt badly," Siannon said.

"Oh I know that feeling; too well sometimes."

"And you can bet your bottom dollar that she's more than aware of that. Somehow I get the idea that we couldn't hurt her more than she already has been and I find that kind of… disquieting, I suppose."

"I think I know what you mean. What do you think happened to the rest of her team?"

"We're best not knowing, for now at least. Do you want to ask her?"

Gwen shook her head. "Good God, no! Well, not yet; I'll put it on my need-to-know list."

Siannon smiled at her gently. "That list is getting longer by the minute, if you hadn't noticed."

"I noticed; now come on, let's grab a cuppa before they drink it all." With that Gwen snuck her arm away from Siannon and strode into the room. In the face of such irrefutable logic, Siannon did the only thing she could and followed.

*

Finding a new home did not prove much of a problem, Siannon knew she was a dream come true for estate agents and house-sellers with no chain and money essentially being no object. She ended up with a three story house – plus basement – that had been listed as being suitable for conversion to flats. It needed little work to make it suitable for 3 people who wanted to keep a healthy distance from each other instead. Lois, as expected, elected to stay in the flat. Siannon didn't blame her, if she was Lois she would not have wanted to live with herself, Johnson and Foster either.

They settled into an uneasy truce; Johnson and Foster's role in the destruction of the Hub was never mentioned but it was always there, the elephant in the room.

When it came to putting the two of them through their paces, Siannon was given the job of dealing with Simon Foster. Siannon wasn't sure if that was because Gwen possibly didn't trust her completely NOT to put a sword in Johnson's guts or whether she preferred to keep Johnson under her own eye.

Simon Foster was a surprisingly easy person with whom to work. He respected, was fiercely protective of and quite possibly was a little in love with Johnson; once Siannon understood and accepted that, they had few problems co-operating with each other. As expected, he'd had weapons training but his true skill was with technology. Given free rein, he blossomed and as he worked more with the Torchwood mainframe and the programmes Tosh had written it became 'mainframe this' and 'Ms Sato that' until Gwen told him to refer to her as Toshiko. Siannon thought Tosh would have thought it rather amusing to find herself spoken of in such reverential tones.

Another advantage for Siannon was that hacking into NHS databases became a whole lot easier when it was Foster doing the hacking. Like many immortals she had ensured that she was more than tech savvy – staying under the radar kind of demanded it – but she did not have the skill of Foster. Even so, despite his apparent skill, Foster couldn't manage to break through Tosh's security protocols. Siannon was quite aware he'd been trying, she'd set him up for the challenge with Gwen's permission. Sometimes Siannon wondered what would come first, Foster gaining access for himself or having it granted; she suspected the latter. He wasn't an inherently malicious person but indoctrination, training and the presence of some strong and charismatic personalities in his background – including, though not exclusive to, Johnson – meant that thinking for himself had always been diverted into technical problems and not directed at the wider picture. Suddenly finding himself a part the organisation he'd once assisted in attempting to bring down had probably been something of an eye opener for him.

Siannon suspected that Torchwood as it currently existed was no less of an eye opener – though more than likely in a different way – for Johnson; she just hid it better.

*

Siannon remained wary of both Johnson and Foster, but she couldn't help but have a grudging admiration for them both and if she were honest with herself, she actually rather liked Simon Foster and his unapologetic but subtle faith in his own abilities. Johnson was another matter altogether; there was nothing subtle about her own faith in herself. Siannon also wasn't entirely convinced that there was anything particularly likeable about her but she couldn't deny that Johnson was very good at what she did; the first Hoix Johnson dispensed with a single gun shot to its brain had been proof of that if she'd needed any. No matter what she thought of the woman, Siannon was glad to have her on their side as it wouldn't be too much longer before Gwen had to give up field work and Johnson was just the sort person who would ruthlessly carry out Gwen's orders even if she weren't there in person. It would most likely cause a few problems as Siannon knew that she worked best without that sort of rigidity; even so, they were gradually becoming a team and Siannon was glad of that.

Sometimes, Siannon wondered what Johnson saw when she looked at her. Then again, Siannon sometimes wondered just who and what she was when she looked at herself; she'd been so many things to so many different people. The face that stared back at her from the mirror wasn't exactly what would be called beautiful in the current social climate but that didn't bother her, it never had; in fact the mirror was only used to ensure she hadn't put her clothes on inside out when she was half asleep or to enable her to tame her unruly hair into something approaching neatness instead of its usual disarray. She knew she and Gwen could present a somewhat startling picture – they were almost the same height (though Gwen often looked taller thanks to her penchant for heeled boots) and between their boots, Siannon's trench coat and Gwen's jacket the amount of leather being worn would be enough to have some people reaching for the polish. Siannon smiled at herself as she braided her hair into a manageable tail; she might be able to rival Gwen in the freckle department after a sunny day but she lacked Gwen's gap-toothed, wide-eyed innocent look and there was always something about her own green eyes that looked cold, probably too many years. It made Gwen a good weapon; people might underestimate her where they would never underestimate Johnson – whose whole bearing screamed 'soldier' even when she was wearing a dress – and would probably be wary of Siannon herself.

*

Gwen watched from the office as Johnson put Lois through her paces on their makeshift firing range in the warehouse, used only when Myfanwy was out and about, admiring her patience as she gently but firmly changed Lois' stance and hand positions until she was happy. Lois had protested about the need for firearms training, saying she was just admin, not field staff but Johnson would not take no for an answer and with Gwen's encouragement had gone ahead with training Lois in the use of various weapons, including Ianto's old favourite, the Stun Gun. Lois was beginning to pay back Johnson's time and patience; she wasn't fast but she was a decent shot. Simon joined them fairly often, as did Siannon and Gwen herself did on the odd occasion; she didn't have to be a genius to see that Johnson was an infinitely better marksman than she was and the extra training would never be wasted. Lois pulled off an extremely good shot with an unfamiliar gun, resulting in a hearty back slap from Simon and a brisk nod from Johnson coupled with an almost gentle smile. Lois turned toward Siannon with a huge grin and Siannon grinned back and gave her a thumbs up.

"She's doing well," Gwen said as she came through the door from the office section to stand close to Siannon. Siannon glanced over with a smile.

"She is and it's good to see them all working together. Johnson even told me I was 'not bad' the other day."

Gwen chuckled. "Oh that's high praise, that is."

"I know, it brought something home to me," Siannon said.

"Which was?"

"Now we are five. We're a bit fuzzy round the edges still but we're getting there, we're a team."

Siannon was right; they were getting there. They could probably do with a larger team once they moved to their permanent home but for now, a team of five was all Gwen felt she could manage and more importantly it felt right.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Five's a good number."

"Even if you don't trust everyone?"

"If _I_ don't? You're the one who threatens Johnson with sharp, pointy things on a semi-regular basis!" Gwen wasn't sure if she sounded outraged or as if she was trying not to laugh. While she didn't exactly condone Siannon's actions it was sometimes almost amusing to watch the two women and she at least knew Siannon couldn't be permanently injured if Johnson did get the upper hand. Siannon seemed to be careful not to inflict anything except minor scratches on Johnson.

"She kind of expects it now, you wouldn't want me disappoint our Aggie, would you Gwen?"

"Heaven forbid you should do that."

"She's damn good you know, nearly disarmed me the other day."

"So she's keeping in practice."

"Very definitely. I've been wondering if I should introduce her to David."

"David Wong? He'd have a fit, not to mention his sense of honour would probably be outraged. Johnson isn't exactly the soul of politeness."

"And I am?"

"You have a point."

"David is a lot less likely to actually want to kill her than Ancelyn, plus I think the formality of the dojo would do us both good."

"You're seriously thinking about this? Okaaay. Who are you and what have you done with Siannon?"

"You don't think it's a good idea?"

Gwen shrugged and kicked at an unoffending piece of floor. "I.. I don't know what to think! I sure as hell don't understand why you want her," she waved an arm in Jonson's direction, "trained in blade work. Aren't you concerned she might take your head? Mutual respect is one thing, but you still don't exactly *like* each other."

"Why would she do that? She doesn't know about immortals, not yet anyway and maybe not ever."

Gwen didn't really like the sound of that, she liked the implications even less. "Oh please don't tell me she's potentially like you!"

"OK, I won't."

"Siannon! You can't just leave it like that…"

"Can't I?" Siannon strode away to join the others at the range, grabbing a pair of ear defenders and taking her position in front of the targets. The conversation was obviously over.

"Sometimes you're insufferable, Siannon O'Niall," Gwen muttered before she turned back to the office. It was times like this when Siannon was being pig-headed and stubborn that Gwen missed being able pass things along to someone else, missed Owen's biting asides, Tosh's quiet encouragement and Ianto's peacekeeping abilities. There was no-one else, like it or not, she was the head of Torchwood; the buck stopped with her. She sighed and put the rest of them out of her head while she concentrated on the job she'd been doing before she became distracted.

*

It was a dark and stormy night. Johnson shook her head irritably as the old adage flittered unbidden through her mind. Yes, it was dark – it was after midnight – but while the weather was damp it was hardly stormy. Perfect weevil weather – or so she'd been informed by a far too cheerful O'Niall – which is why she was lurking in a less than savoury area of Cardiff at a god–forsaken hour with outsized handcuffs and a spray can on her person as well as her tried and trusted guns.

"I'm in position," she announced, abandoning her misgivings in place of professionalism. She'd chosen her path and while she might not exactly agree with the way Cooper wanted to run Torchwood, she had to admit the woman was a visionary and damn persuasive to boot. Torchwood needed to exist, Johnson knew that and was just as aware of the benefits of keeping it outside of strict government control. It was something with which she'd battled to come to terms considering her former employ but if nothing else the whole 456 fiasco had shown her that the State did not always have the best interests of all its citizens at heart, which is why she was in a smelly alley sneaking up on what she hoped were a passive group of weevils. Torchwood's directive was to protect the people of Cardiff – all of Cardiff from run–down council estates to the near palatial houses of the nouveau riche and everything in between – and beyond that, the world; _that_ she could believe in and she'd work with far worse than Cooper and O'Niall to achieve it, no matter how superficially unpleasant it might be.

"Don't forget we want to see if we can encourage them back into the sewers rather than capturing or killing them. That goes for both of you," Cooper said.

"Yes mother," O'Niall agreed, making Johnson smile. She'd never be able to get away with the teasing that O'Niall heaped on Cooper but it seemed they'd known each other for years, even if O'Niall hadn't been an official member of the Torchwood team that Johnson had tried to destroy. She'd also apparently killed the first weevil she came across with a _sword_ and for that at least she deserved respect; swords were a great deal more difficult to use than guns.

"They're still maintaining the same position and you're all equidistant now." Foster's voice was reassuringly familiar in her ear; she was glad he'd decided to make the transition to being a Torchwood member with her, it gave her some stability in the maelstrom that had become her life since the 456 and Torchwood had turned it on its head.

"Where's the nearest sewer entrance we could chase them into?" O'Niall asked.

"About 100 metres east of your position."

"Right then, in that case... have you two got a visual yet?"

"Yeah – I can see you too."

"Likewise," Johnson replied. The 3 weevils didn't seem to be doing anything more dangerous than digging through rubbish, until she noticed that one of them was holding what appeared to be the half–rotted leg of a dog. She supposed she should be glad it wasn't human.

"I hope they've finished their dinner."

"What? Siannon, don't you..." Too late. O'Niall stepped fully into the visual field of the weevils, but they ignored her. Cooper continued to hiss ignored commands over the comm while the other woman just stood there grinning.

"Hey boys, how about a night–time run?" One of the weevils turned in her direction briefly, but seemed more interested in whatever else besides the dead dog that was in front of it. "Well I can't be having that..." She walked even closer until they seemed to register her as a threat, and then she took off at a ground eating lope in the direction of the sewer entrance. They lumbered after her, speeding up as she let out a piercing whistle. "Time to make like sheepdogs, girls." To Johnson's disgust O'Niall sounded like she was tying not to laugh, even through the screech and clang of the sewer entrance being uncovered. Not for the first time, Johnson muttered under her breath about O'Niall being a crazy bitch. Not quietly enough though... "I heard that, Aggie. Be a love and get the weevil that's just headed back in your direction to join his mates underground, will you?" Johnson ground her teeth at the use of the hated diminutive but did as she was bade using little more than brute force and weevil spray to get the last one down into the sewer while Cooper had her back.

They regrouped at the anonymous looking black van – one of the substitutes for the ostentatious SUV Torchwood used to use, the other being the Land Rover Johnson had brought with her from her old job – and Johnson lost her mental bet with herself as Cooper began verbally laying into O'Niall before she'd even come to a halt.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing, Siannon? I thought being reckless was Jack's thing but just because he isn't here doesn't mean you have to try and emulate him!"

"It worked didn't it? And I'm fine."

"That's not the point. We're a _t_ _eam_ Siannon, we take risks as a team no matter what advantages you might have. Is that so difficult to get into your thick Irish head? No, don't answer that; obviously it is or we wouldn't be having this conversation." Cooper wrenched open the door of the van and flung herself into the passenger seat, throwing the keys away from her as the door was slammed shut. Johnson caught them with a grim smile.

"I take it I'm driving," she said to no–one in particular. Cooper was still sitting stony faced in the front and O'Niall was clambering into the back with a trace of a smirk on her face. At times like this it was hard to believe they counted each other as good friends but Johnson knew it would all blow over; it always did. Even so, working for Torchwood – and with those two – wasn't easy and she was always glad of the company of Simon and Lois back at base.

*

At first glance it wasn't obvious that the new medical bay was essentially a portakabin; it looked every bit as clean and clinical as it should and Siannon couldn't help but be proud of it. The beauty of its modular structure was that it would be able to be transported to their new permanent home with a minimum of fuss when the rest of the conversion of St James had been completed and the old church was ready for Torchwood to move in. Until then, she could get used to it, and all the equipment it contained; equipment that she was able – and genuinely certified as competent – to use. It had taken some manoeuvring and a fair bit of technological high jinx courtesy of Simon to get her onto courses she strictly speaking did not have the right to attend, then hard work on her part to get through them but now she was ready for the title of Torchwood medic in truth rather than feeling like a glorified first aider. She patted the last item to be delivered – a top of the range ultrasound scanner – and glanced around one more time before carefully closing the door behind her, running through inventories and scheduling the long-due medical assessments of the team in her head as she made her way to the office.

Gwen had an appointment that morning, one that Siannon – and Rhys – would not let her miss so it fell to Siannon to make the visit to the old Hub site. She hadn't been there for a while as she'd been too busy in her pursuit of gaining qualifications and she was surprised at how much had changed. The crater in the Plas was still a crater, but much of the rubble had been cleared and it looked forlorn as much as anything else, and though the pain was less she still felt the jolt of sorrow at the sight of the broken water tower. Siannon wondered, not for the first time, how much longer they had before UNIT was ordered to fill it all back in, reconstruct the water tower and make the Plas look as if nothing had happened. She hoped they would be settled into their new home first even though that was still months away.

It seemed she was still a familiar face as she was waved through the perimeter with little formality and then left to find her way to Bambera's office alone.

"Siannon! You have not graced us with the pleasure of your company for too long. It is good to see you." Ancelyn's smile of greeting was wide and genuine, as he bent over her hand with a wink.

Siannon smiled back at him, she rather liked his formality as it reminded her of different times and different places. "One day, Ancelyn, you'll just say hello and I will die of shock."

"I would never do such a thing to you," Ancelyn said with a grin and kissed her hand.

"Ancelyn, put her down; we have work to do," Bambera called from inside the room.

"Duty calls, dear lady." Ancelyn released her hand, pushed open the door of the office for her and bowed as he closed it behind her. She heard his footsteps echoing down the corridor as she pulled up a chair beside Bambera's desk.

"Do we really?" Siannon asked.

"Have work to do?" Bambera continued. "In a way, yes. But first I need to return something." She fished inside her jacket and removed a bulky envelope, placing it on the surface between them. "We've been clearing out the medical bay recently but everything seemed to be just rubble and slag; then we found that." Bambera tapped the package and pushed it across the desk toward Siannon.

"Where was it?" Siannon asked as she picked it up.

"Buried in amongst the remains of what looked like an autopsy drawer. Ross found it, and brought it straight to me."

"If this is what I think it is, I'm going to buy Ross a very large drink when he's next off duty."

She carefully opened the envelope, slid out the rather battered looking piece of electronic equipment from inside and couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face. It was very much a sight for sore eyes

"I assume it is what you thought it was? Some sort of medical scanner I presume."

"Yes and yes. This is a Bekaran scanner and if it works, you and Ross have just made my life as a Torchwood medic a hell of a lot easier. Even better, I already know how to use it." She pressed a few buttons in a particular sequence and the scanner gratifyingly lit up, she switched it off again rapidly.

"It works?"

"Seems to be fine apart from needing to be recharged and luckily we won't have a problem doing that. So much never made it out of the Hub and that this did is probably thanks to Owen Harper, our previous medic. He had a tendency to store things in the oddest of places and if none of the others knew how to use this or remembered it was there, then it would have stayed right where he left it."

"I'm glad about that. It's good to actually retrieve something that is still of use, I was beginning to think there was nothing else left."

"You and me both. Is Ross on duty?"

"He's still on site, yes."

"Then I shall go and thank him in person."

"And promise him that drink?"

"Something like that." Siannon gave Bambera a quick grin, slid the Bekaran scanner back into the envelope and then secreted it into her own coat. She couldn't think of a better present than the scanner for the official opening of the medical bay.

"Want some company?" Bambera asked.

"Yeah, why not; we'll terrify them."

"A little bit of terrifying is good for the soul – and keeps them in line," Bambera said with a grin.

Siannon chuckled as she got out of the chair and held the door open for brigadier Bambera, the woman managed to terrify the grunts just by breathing so Siannon couldn't help but look forward with twisted glee to witnessing what Bambera's actual presence would do to them. She could laugh about it later with Gwen.

Back at the warehouse and the medical bay, Siannon placed the scanner under a uv light, with luck it should be fully charged by the time Gwen arrived back and she would be able to give it a proper work out. While Gwen had an official obstetrician and midwife, Siannon was very glad to now have the wherewithal to check for problems with Gwen's pregnancy right down to the cellular level, both for Gwen and the baby. Siannon had been unable to completely quiet the nagging voice at the back of her mind that said Torchwood would mess this up just like it had messed up Gwen's life and she had no doubt that Rhys felt the same, and probably Gwen too though she would probably deny that if asked. At least now Siannon would be able to keep a close eye on mother and baby herself and hopefully lay all their fears to rest. None of them mentioned it but the baby was their hope, their tangible reminder outside of Torchwood that life went on and like Gwen and Rhys, she would defend that child to the best of her ability – to death and back again if necessary.

*

One of the spare rooms on Siannon's floor of the house had been converted to a small exercise studio/dojo. Johnson and Simon shared the top floor, Siannon had the middle floor, and the common areas like the kitchen, lounge and dining room were on the ground floor. It was a system that gave them all privacy while enabling Siannon to keep a not always surreptitious eye on the other two.

She and Johnson still went to David Wong's place as time allowed but as rift activity increased the pace of normal Torchwood tasks picked up and they found themselves with less time to do so. The home studio had been the best compromise in Siannon's opinion though she wasn't sure – and didn't really care – if Johnson agreed with her or not.

"Tell me again just why we are doing this?" Johnson asked from her position on the floor. It had taken Siannon a fair bit of effort to put her there and anyone else would have looked undignified but Johnson never did, there was always a gravitas around her when anything martial was involved.

"Because we can?" Siannon answered with an impish smile. "And I thought it was a good idea."

"Besides that, " Johnson said as she got to her feet and headed to the small water cooler in the corner. Siannon settled onto the bench against the wall and leant her head back, watching as Johnson carefully sipped her cup of water.

"I can tell you one reason, but I doubt you'll like it," Siannon said.

"Only one?" Johnson set her cup aside and glared; Siannon met the glare with a smile.

"It's a start, don't knock it."

"Then bloody well get on with it and tell me!"

Siannon shifted on the bench, turning to face Johnson a little more.

"What do you know of John Hart?" Siannon asked.

"That he's trouble on legs, usually armed to the teeth, non-terrestrial in origin and liable to turn up when you least expect him or want him around."

"That's him in a nutshell all right. The 'armed to the teeth' doesn't just include the sort of weaponry you'd anticipate; he also carries a sword and from what I've heard he very definitely knows how to use it. He's used to Torchwood facing him with guns and ingenuity; swords are something he won't expect."

Siannon managed not to chuckle at the face Johnson pulled and instead moved further along the bench to make room for her.

"Now _that_ makes more sense," Johnson said as she joined Siannon on the bench while remaining a safe distance from her – something that was not lost on Siannon. "Why didn't you tell me it was a matter of security?"

"Would you have believed me, Aggie?"

Johnson frowned. "Siannon…"

"Well, would you?" Siannon demanded. She knew Johnson hated her name, especially when abbreviated, but using it was a good way of ensuring her attention was caught and remained focused on what was being said.

"No. Not at first at least."

"Exactly. Easier to let you think it was just another way to wind you up and score points off you."

"But not necessarily more effective."

"Oh I don't know… doing it like this has meant that you've been acting like you've got something to prove and consequently I think you've taken sword work more seriously."

"I never take weapons work anything but seriously, you know that; lives depend on it."

"That's as may be, but you do everything with military precision and organisation. You may be damn good but doing it like this has meant you've put your heart into it just that little bit more and I think you've done better because of that. You have to be creative with a sword, not just precise."

"You may have a point."

"I know I have."

"Oh don't get all holier than thou about it, Siannon; you know you enjoy trying to wind me up."

Siannon gave Johnson a one-sided shrug and a flash of a smile. "Guilty as charged," she said.

Johnson leaned back with a smirk of her own, as if she were pleased at getting Siannon to admit to that.

"So, John Hart is one reason for training me with the sword; what about the others?"

"All in good time – and right now is not a good time."

"You are infuriating," Johnson said.

"I know, but I'm good with a sword all the same. Now come on, we've time for another round."

*

There was something of a festive atmosphere when Siannon officially used the Bekaran scanner for the first time since its rediscovery; she'd checked it was still working on herself, knowing what her results *should* be and was happy that apart from cosmetic damage it hadn't suffered in the explosion. She silently thanked Owen again for his quirks and foibles that had ensured its survival. She'd called Rhys in to be with Gwen when she did the scan and he was holding Gwen's hand as the information about their child scrolled across the screen. She smiled as she laid the scanner to one side.

"Well?" Asked Rhys, nervous as any first time dad would be.

"Mother and baby are both in perfect health," Siannon said.

"Thank God. Isn't that wonderful?" He hugged Gwen tight and Siannon could have sworn she saw an errant tear sneak down his face. She didn't blame him.

"Best news ever. Oh Rhys!" Gwen laughed, hugging Rhys back just as tightly. Siannon let them have their moment as she carefully put the Bekaran scanner away. She turned back to them at the sound of Rhys clearing his throat. He was still holding Gwen's hand, but they were no longer clinging to each other.

"Siannon, I need to ask you something."

"Fire away, Rhys."

"Is it safe for Gwen still to work here?"

"Rhys!" Gwen interrupted, pulling her hand away.

"No Gwen, I'm serious." He grabbed her hand again. "I've only known about Torchwood a short while, and yet in that time one thing has been brought home to me above all others. If you work for Torchwood you die, and you die young. I don't want to lose you and I don't want to lose our baby before it's even had a chance to live. Do you think I'm wrong to feel like that? Because if you do…" Rhys' voice broke and he sniffed, turning his face away for a moment.

"No I don't, how could I?" Gwen said in a small voice. "I love you."

"But you also love bloody Torchwood. I can't compete with that, but I also want to keep you safe, like you want to keep the whole damn world safe. Charity begins at home, Gwen."

There was silence in the room, and it was very definitely not a comfortable silence. Siannon took it upon herself to break it and possibly relieve some of the tension.

"One thing I can promise Rhys is that I will do everything to protect them both," she said in as calm a tone of voice as she could manage.

"Thank you. But you can't take a bullet for her and survive like sodding Jack Harkness."

"Um, well, actually I can."

Rhys and Gwen reacted to that revelation simultaneously.

"W..what?!" Stuttered Rhys.

"Siannon!" Hissed Gwen, her indignation only too apparent.

"Leave it Gwen; this is my decision," said Siannon and turned her attention solely to Rhys. "Jack is not the only immortal on the planet, Rhys. I've known for a long time that I don't age and die like normal people do so I can guarantee that when I say I'll protect them I mean it – even to the death. Not that I expect that to happen because Gwen is going to do just what she's told for a change, aren't you Gwen?"

"I…"

"See, she agrees. Now the beauty of the Bekaran scanner is that it will alert me to any incipient problems before they would be detectable by normal means. I am going to watch her like a hawk and do regular scans and if I find any problems, she's going to be suspended from field duty whether she likes it or not. It's only a matter of time before she has to come off active duty anyway."

"But…"

"Shut up, Gwen. As your medical officer I am entitled and required to make those decisions. I have a duty of care towards you, the baby and the rest of the team and I take that duty damn seriously. Does that ease your mind, Rhys?"

Rhys was gaping at her like a stranded fish, most probably due to her revelation of immortality, but he gathered himself together enough to nod.

"Good. Now I think I should leave you two alone, and inform the rest of the team of the forthcoming happy event as we'd originally planned. You know where I am if you need me."

"Thanks, Siannon," mumbled Rhys as she strode out of the medical bay. Siannon did not look back; she didn't want to be witness to the argument she knew was going to be happening on the other side of the door. She was glad she'd opted for soundproofing in the construction of the medical bay as it meant that she didn't have to hear the argument either, though muffled raised voices were just about audible as she headed off to find the rest of the team.

*

After Siannon had broken the news of Gwen's pregnancy to the rest of the team, nothing overtly changed but Gwen was aware of subtle differences in the attitude of the team. Siannon's was the most obvious as well as being the easiest to explain; in Siannon's eyes being medic was at least as important, probably more so, than being second in command. It also made Gwen understand the basis of some of Owen's bedside manner – or lack of it; Siannon reminded her of him more and more, painfully so at times.

As for the others, Gwen found that harder to pin down but there was a difference, she wasn't imagining it. She found it ironic that she recognised it in Johnson first; it was a new sort of respect, one that was not born of remorse or fear. Understanding was one thing but it was still a little disconcerting and not something she could discuss with anyone living, not even Rhys. The dead were a different matter; they at least said nothing that made her feel daft and hormonal.

It was also with some relief that Gwen greeted the signs that things were starting to get back to Torchwood normal. Chasing weevils had never exactly been her favourite activity and besides the odd bit of debris and a stray Hoix or two, that was mostly what they'd been doing.

The arrival of a rift returnee meant a trip out to Flat Holm, the second since Gwen had stepped into Jack's shoes. As with the previous trip, only Siannon accompanied her although she had ensured that the others knew of the place at least – she didn't want anyone else finding out about Flat Holm in the way that she had, it was heart-rending enough as it was. It went about as well as she'd expected, leaving them both in a foul mood by the time they were back in Cardiff which didn't surprise her – she knew how helpless Flat Holm and the need for it made her feel and expected Siannon felt just the same, if not worse. What did surprise her was the way that they were frogmarched off to the pub by Johnson on their return, with Lois and Simon aiding and abetting with aplomb.

In the warm confines of the pub Gwen felt herself unwind a little. This was _her_ team and like any good team would, they looked after each other even if Johnson's approach wasn't exactly one that Gwen would use herself – though she could imagine Siannon using it. The last of Gwen's post Flat Holm tension was swept away on a tide of laughter and she vowed to remember moments like this against the times when everything seemed like it was going to hell, as she knew they would come; they were Torchwood, it was a guarantee that hell would land on their doorstep at some point.

*

The next morning, Siannon emerged from the other side of her post Flat Holm visit downer with the renewed conviction that Torchwood was her family with Cardiff her home for the foreseeable future. As an immortal she was used to not making plans, used to following whim and whimsy and was an expert on going with the flow. Though she'd committed to Torchwood, said all the right things, _done_ all the right things, there was part of her had been treating it as just another thing to do in her long life. What Flat Holm – and the rest of the team's way of dealing with the aftermath of the trip – had done was give that part of her a healthy kick. Torchwood needed her full commitment and though it had been easy for her to dedicate herself to protecting the people who made up Torchwood, the trip to Flat Holm had reminded her that the _idea_ of Torchwood needed the same devotion. It was time to take her relocation to Cardiff seriously and make the place her home rather than somewhere she'd chosen to live and she was almost disgusted with herself to realise that she'd resisted doing just that. She strode over to the window and pulled the curtains back, flooding her room with the light of a new Cardiff morning. With the window at her back she glanced around the room with a critical eye and saw it for what it was – a temporary home and not a permanent one; there was too much of an air of transience about it. That at least she could change, _would_ change, though she wasn't sure that Johnson or Simon would necessarily thank her for it. More importantly, she needed to do it sooner rather than later, before the rift and Gwen's pregnancy curtailed any opportunity for absences that took up a significant amount of time, plus she needed to find out if Rich was truly happy to continue making Cumbria at least a semi-permanent home for the next few years and was not just something to do to help out a friend because he didn't have anything better lined up for the immediate future.

Certain parts of her plan were executed without much difficulty; Gwen readily agreed to her taking some time off and Rich made her feel old with his boundless enthusiasm. In short order there was only one thing left to do, which was organise her transport. Siannon chose her time, ensuring that Johnson was not obviously armed, except with cutlery, though she was fairly sure that with enough provocation Johnson would carve her heart out with a spoon and stab her in the eyes with a fork; even when supposedly unarmed, Johnson was always dangerous. Beating around the bush was liable to irritate Johnson even more so Siannon went straight to the point.

"I want to borrow the Land Rover," Siannon said into a break in the chatter that surrounded the table at meal times. Silence immediately fell like a pall and everyone's eyes swivelled toward Johnson who laid down her fork and raised her head, meeting Siannon's eyes with not-quite a glare.

"You… what?"

"The Land Rover; I want to borrow it."

"May I ask why, or are you just going to commandeer it?"

"You can ask…" Siannon paused, then ducked her head to hide a smile at Johnson's expected and wordless grumble that filled the gap. "It isn't anything terribly exciting I'm afraid," she continued. "I need to bring some of my stuff down from Cumbria; it's time to make my place a bit more like home. Thing is, some of it is pretty bulky and while getting a trailer is no problem the Citroën isn't exactly the best car for towing, so…" she shrugged.

"That's all very well, but what are we," Johnson indicated herself and Simon, "supposed to drive in the meantime? We can't all use the van." Siannon mentally gave Johnson brownie points for not even suggesting the C6, time was she would have done just to make Siannon feel uncomfortable by needing to refuse.

"My Renault Scenic; I never did get round to selling it and it's been sitting in a garage not being used for the last couple of months. It doesn't exactly have the style of the C6 but it's not a bad car," Siannon said.

"As long as it isn't pink, it'll do." The thought of Johnson in a pink Scenic, hurtling round corners at speed and chasing down weevils was just too much to be borne and Siannon dissolved into fits of giggles.

"No, it's not pink," she wheezed. "It's a very nice boring black."

"Good colour," Johnson said. Siannon didn't need to look to tell she was trying not to smile.

*

The best thing about the Land Rover was that it was perfect for twisting, hilly roads but as a car for motorway driving it was somewhat less than perfect. Siannon took that into account and drove up to Cumbria the long way round – through the Beacons and the Marches in Wales – and avoided the motorway as much as possible once she'd hit England again.

The light was fading, the sunset painting the sky in shades of ochre and burnt umber when Siannon crested the last hill that hid her Cumbrian home from view. The squat bell tower of the old chapel stood sentinel above the jumble of roofs and walls that made up the rest of the house, though the bell itself had been silent for a long time. The door to the porch was open and golden light, warm and welcoming, poured out. The light wasn't the only welcoming thing visible either; Rich was there with the light from the door making his hair rival the sunset, though his smile was even brighter. The sight of him lifted her heart and Siannon almost fell out of the car in her effort to reach him.

There were hugs and laughter and more hugs before Siannon stepped back with her hands on Rich's shoulders, gave him a shake and declared,

"Richard Ryan, I think Cumbria suits you!"

Rich's grin broadened, something she hadn't been sure was possible.

"It sure does," he said. "Great roads, great beer and far away from Immortal Central; I love it."

"Tell me that again in ten years when the novelty has worn off and I might believe you. Now what have you been doing with yourself besides terrorising the four-legged locals with your bike?" Rich flung an arm round her shoulders and proceeded to tell her, chattering brightly as they made their way into the house.

Comfortably ensconced in her favourite chair with a Guinness in hand, Siannon felt a lot of the residual tension drain out of her. The windows were dark with the drawing in of the night, but the room was bright and warm. She rested her head back listening with half an ear to Rich's tales of settling in and generally making himself useful to the technologically wary community; it seemed he'd become their 'computer man' without even really trying and had even gone as far as looking into setting himself up in business to that effect. It was a good idea, a consultancy didn't necessarily need to be tied to one place and it reassured Siannon that Rich was telling the truth about being happy to stay; he wouldn't be looking to support himself if he wasn't. She wondered how he would react when she told him more about Torchwood and her need to have him as back up; probably with his normal enthusiasm, knowing him. She would find out the next day, she was far too comfortable and relaxed to think about Torchwood and it was good to feel that way.

*

Packing a chunk of her life up to take with her back to Cardiff proved much easier with help and Rich's insistence that she just come back for more if she needed to rather than try to take everything she thought she should at once. Siannon had to admit he did have a point.

"Even Mac doesn't keep hold of everything," Rich commented as she detuned a mandolin before carefully placing it in his case.

"He lives on a boat half the year, he couldn't."

"Yeah and half the year he doesn't. Have you _seen_ the guy's storage lockers?"

"A couple. We were looking for something."

Rich chuckled. "Did you find it?"

"Eventually."

"So, do you have storage anywhere besides here?"

Siannon sat back on her heels and gave Rich a smile.

"What do you think?" She asked.

"Probably, but maybe not."

"There's a place in Ireland, but I've not been there for a while."

"How long is a while? Am I allowed to ask that?"

"You can ask and I won't even kill you for it. About 20 years, give or take a few."

"Oh, not that long then."

Siannon threw a cushion at him, which missed Rich as he ducked, laughing as he snatched it out of the air.

"Brat," she said. Rich doffed an imaginary hat in a gesture he had to have picked up from Fitzcairn, which made her smile. He passed the cushion back to her and she shoved it under her knees.

"Seriously, how long do you think you'll be in Cardiff?" Rich asked

"Years, most likely but I don't know how many exactly. Would you be prepared to stay on here for a few until I know for certain? Cardiff is going to be a long haul I think but a couple of years should have everything settled down as well as it can be."

"I don’t see why not. A couple of years of peace to recharge sounds like heaven; sure beats looking over my shoulder every time I turn round. I even found the dojo you use. I guess you could say that I'm settling in."

"Don't get too settled, Rich."

"Oh yeah?"

"I might need to call in a favour or two."

"And?"

"I'll tell you over a drink. Come on, leave this for now." Siannon scrambled upright and grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge on her way outside, where she sat in the sunlight with her back against the sun-warmed stone of the old chapel wall. Rich settled down next to her and accepted the bottle she passed to him.

"OK then; tell," he said.

"There's a rift – a crack – in time and space that runs through Cardiff and things fall through it. It's been policed for years by an organisation called Torchwood. I've worked with them occasionally in the past but now I've taken on a more permanent role, helping to build a new team."

"Whoa, hang on there. Things? Living Things?"

"Among other stuff, yeah."

"Aliens?!"

"And alien artefacts."

"No shit! Siannon O'Niall; Alien Hunter. Jeez!"

"Fancy being a trusty – if part time – side kick?"

"A part time alien hunter? Hell, yeah. Wait 'til I tell Mac." He paused and his face fell, Siannon was hard pressed not to smile. "Ah. I'm not going to be able to tell Mac am I?"

"I'm afraid not, but Methos knows all about Torchwood and I bet Joe knows something though how much, I'm not sure."

"Probably more than you'd like, knowing Joe."

"Probably," she agreed.

"You'll need me to come to Cardiff with you."

"I will?" Siannon asked with fake innocence and a smile.

"Aw c'mon Siannon, you know goddamn well you will. If you want me to work with your team part time and on short notice you'll need to introduce me and let them get used to me. Do they even know about immortality?"

"My boss does but as far as I know she hasn't told anyone else. Yet. They're going to have to learn at some point or it might cause a few problems." She'd avoided telling the team until they were more of a team, in part due to Johnson's past actions but that wouldn't be the easiest thing to explain to Rich.

"Won't immortality seem boring when compared with aliens?"

No, not the easiest thing to explain, but Siannon knew she was going to have to try; Rich had to know what he was letting himself in for, immortal or not. She sighed.

"To some, maybe it would but one of the team blew up the old base because someone thought that immortality was tied up with it."

"And you _trust_ him?!"

"Her. And no we don't. Well, not exactly," Siannon said, hoping Rich would understand; it seemed he did as he carefully nodded.

"Which is why you want me," he said.

"Got it in one. You'll be my the eyes in the back of my head if I'm not there and the person I trust above all others to have my back if it all goes to shit – which it could well do."

"Count me in. You don't need to worry about me ever telling Mac; he wouldn't believe me if I did and to make it worse he'd then probably get on his high horse and tell me to steer clear of drugs."

Siannon clinked her bottle against Rich's in agreement, glad to have such a willing partner in crime. It was a pity he would never meet Tosh, he would have adored her, but she could see him getting on easily with Lois and Simon. Johnson might be wary of someone who looked as young as Rich did yet carried themselves like a warrior, though she might just assume he was a US veteran or that it came from years of sword work. She hid a grin against the bottle – with their history Johnson might believe that she'd dredged up Rich for sword practice rather than anything else and he could quite honestly say he'd been working with the sword for over ten years which would account for both his proficiency and his attitude.

Siannon went to pick up the trailer she needed to transport her things the next day, with Rich a willing passenger in the Land Rover. He took one look at the trailer and burst out laughing.

"I thought you said you weren't going to try to take everything at once! That thing is…" He waved an arm in the direction of the large trailer, unable to continue through his laughter.

"Bigger than you were expecting, Mr Ryan?" Siannon asked with a grin.

"Not exactly. I just didn't think that you would go ahead and hire one that big. Out here, I didn't know if you could!"

"That's rural living for you. The best thing is, this is a franchised hire company and there is another branch near Cardiff so I don't need to drive the damn thing all the way back up here again – one reason why I decided on this trailer."

"Oh yeah?"

"If I'm dropping it off in Wales, how the hell are you getting back up here? Public transport to my place is non-existent, you know that."

"My bike is coming with us?"

"Yes, your bike is coming with us, which is why I've hired this monster; your bike isn't exactly small and it needs to survive the journey in one piece." She glanced at Rich when he didn't immediately reply to find him staring toward the misty hills in the distance, probably going over the journey in his head, knowing him. Eventually, he returned her glance, and smiled.

"It wouldn't be a problem if I took the long way round coming back here, would it?" He sounded almost sheepish and Siannon couldn't help but return the smile.

"Not at all, I think it would be a crime not to take the scenic route."

"Great," he replied and wandered off muttering to himself, leaving Siannon to deal with the nitty gritty of completing the trailer hire. He reappeared, in spirit as well as in body, to assist in getting the trailer hitched up to the Land Rover which meant they were back on the road quite quickly, much to Siannon's relief.

 

*

 

She wasn't on the road the next day, but Siannon was headed back down the M6 toward Cardiff in less than the week she'd thought it would take, the deficiencies of the Land Rover as a motorway vehicle compensated for by the ease with which it towed the trailer, even if manoeuvring on the roads near her house had been somewhat interesting at times. She'd had to stop Rich from practising Welsh phrases, purely to save her intercostal muscles from being strained and re-strained due to laughing too much; his Welsh was worse than his French had been when he'd first attempted to learn it, which was saying something. If he persevered she was sure he would pick it up – his French had become pretty fluent and he had a fairly good ear – but she didn't want him to try while she was attempting to drive. Rich being Rich accepted with good grace much to her relief, then insisted on sharing the driving to which Siannon agreed, not being a person to turn down a genuine offer without good reason.

It was mid afternoon by the time they arrived back in Cardiff and they had just enough time before Siannon would need to return the trailer to the hire company to get everything out of it in a systematic fashion, starting with the bike which had survived the journey intact much to her – and Rich's – relief. Even without Rich's bike in the trailer, there was still a hell of a lot to unpack. She glanced at the house, and sighed.

"Problem?" Asked Rich.

"Not really, just that pretty much everything is going either upstairs to my floor or downstairs to the basement until I have a chance to sort it all out."

"So?"

"Have you seen the stairs?" Siannon loved the house, but the main stairs weren't exactly wide and shallow and the ones to the basement were even worse.

Rich grinned at her. "Can't be worse than those little twisty ones that change direction three times before you've gone up one floor in your other house," he said. Siannon grinned back, Rich had a point and he was the one who'd done the bulk of the hauling things up and down said stairs.

"Let's get to it, then."

With the two of them, getting everything out of the trailer was a reasonably quick job. Siannon was inside it, grabbing the last of the boxes when she heard a muffled exclamation behind her. She turned to see Simon and Johnson. Johnson swept the inside of the trailer with an assessing glance, then turned her attention to the house, where piles of boxes and cases were visible through the open door.

"When you said you were bringing 'some of your stuff' down, I didn't imagine you'd bring this much," Simon said.

"You should be glad she left most of it back up there, then," said Rich as he came out of the front door of the house. Siannon stifled a giggle at the incredulous expression on Simon's face; Johnson merely looked bored.

"I'll take your word for it," replied Simon.

"And you are?" Johnson asked Rich with her usual subtlety.

"Richard Ryan; you must be Johnson and Foster." Rich nodded to the others, but didn't offer his hand and headed back inside the house again, presumably to continue lugging boxes up and down stairs. Siannon hefted her own box and stepped down to the road from the back of the trailer to find Johnson watching the door of the house thoughtfully.

"He moves like a fighter," Johnson commented.

"That's because he is," Siannon replied. She would have added 'and don't forget it' but with Johnson, she knew there was no need; Johnson would never forget. She turned her attention to Simon. "Here, Simon, take this off me and I'll get this thing locked up. I need a drink before I take it back." Simon grabbed the box and followed Rich into the house, leaving Siannon free to swing the trailer door shut and lock it.

Johnson was still standing in the road when she'd finished.

"Richard Ryan is your back up," Johnson said.

"That's right. I would trust him – in fact I *have* trusted him – with my life; he's very loyal to his friends and resourceful in a tight situation."

Johnson nodded, a faint smile hovering on her face.

"Loyalty and resourcefulness; I approve. It wouldn't matter if I didn't, though, would it?"

"Not one jot. You'd best get used to him as I suspect we're going to be seeing a fair bit of Rich in the future," Siannon said before turning on her heel and heading into the house for a much needed cup of coffee.

*

As Siannon had expected, Rich settled in well with the team. His outgoing nature and natural ebullience enabled him to make friends easily with Gwen, Lois and Simon. Johnson was more wary, but then Johnson was wary of everyone and Siannon would have been concerned if she *hadn't* been. She still hadn't told Johnson officially that Rich was also a skilled sword user, though she had noticed Johnson's assessing glance sweep over them both; the woman knew he carried a sword and had chosen not to mention it. Siannon had to admit she was relieved though she wondered at times just what sort of scenario Johnson was concocting in her head to make sense of the need for swords to be carried at all times.

*

Gwen liked Richie, at times he reminded her of an enthusiastic puppy though all puppyish resemblance was literally blown away the first time Johnson put him through his paces on the firing range; only Johnson and Foster were better shots. As she watched, Gwen made a mental note not to underestimate the man in any situation but his skill also meant that he was perfect as Torchwood back up. She was silent as Richie went through gun after gun, casually decimating the targets in a way that should have been frightening and had Johnson wreathed in smiles.

"You should see the way he drives," Siannon said from behind her. Gwen started slightly, she hadn't heard Siannon approach.

"Oh?"

"Think Owen and Jack combined." Gwen shuddered, that sounded like something to which she really didn't want to be subjected any time soon.

"I'll bear that in mind," she said.

"There's a reason he rides a motorbike by preference. So, boss, will you be happy for Rich to act as back up for us?"

Gwen cast her eyes over to the range again; it seemed that Richie had just outshot Simon Foster and they were laughing about it.

"Oh, more than happy. I couldn't persuade you to let me ask him to be a full time member of Torchwood, could I?"

"No. Long term, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Any particular reason why?" Gwen asked.

"Guess," replied Siannon. Gwen glared at her, Siannon just shrugged and turned back to the range. Gwen did the same, watching the way Richie moved rather than anything else, tallying it up in her head when he slithered back into his coat and his stance changed; slightly, but there was still a change. She realised she'd seen _just_ that way of moving before and glanced over at Siannon, who smiled innocently back at her.

"He's like you, isn't he?" She asked. Siannon's smile grew wider.

"Got it in one, though Rich is still young enough for some of those who knew him when he was a kid to still be around. There are a few people who make the mistake of underestimating him because of it."

Gwen glanced toward the range again.

"I can guarantee that is something I will never do," she said. "I still think he'd be a great permanent addition to the team, but I can see why you wouldn't think it was a good idea. Back up he is, then. Does he know?"

"Oh he knows. He's kind of looking forward to being a part-time undercover alien hunter; his words, not mine."

Gwen chuckled at that. She had a feeling that Richard Ryan would be good for them, even in small doses.

*

Things went back to what passed for normal in Torchwood very quickly once Rich had returned to Cumbria after his short visit and it was a few days before Siannon managed to unpack some of her more precious items. She was sitting on the floor of what she'd designated her music room, case open and abandoned as she carefully coaxed a treasured clairseach into tune. The top of her head prickled and she glanced up to find Johnson leaning on the door frame; the woman moved too damn quietly at times. Johnson was staring at the clairseach as if it was the strangest thing she'd ever encountered. Siannon waited for the outburst with a quirk of a smile; it didn't take long.

"What the hell is that?"

"What does it look like, Aggie?"

"A harp," Johnson grumbled in reply.

"Surprise surprise," Siannon said in a deadpan tone of voice as she hefted it into her arms. "It is a harp."

"What on earth are you going to do with a harp?"

"What do you think I’m going to do with it?"

"You can play the harp?!"

"Of course I can bloody well play it! And the mandolin, violin, guitar, piano, zither…"

"OK, OK, I get the idea; you're a music freak. Why am I not surprised?"

"I have no idea." Siannon was at last satisfied with the tuning and ran off a few practice arpeggios across the wire strings; to her ears the clairseach sounded happy to at last be let out of its confinement.

Johnson detached herself from the door frame and took a step inside the room. Siannon didn't still her fingers, but raised an eyebrow in query.

"I don’t suppose you play requests, do you?" Johnson asked. Siannon had to stifle a chuckle at the almost-wistful tone of Johnson's voice.

"Depends what you want," she said and promptly launched into 'Sweet Child of Mine' as she felt the guitar part translated quite well to the wire strung harp as well as being fairly recognisable, then she segued into 'Stairway to Heaven' followed by 'My Immortal' just for the sheer hell of it before she rounded it all off with 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' while she surreptitiously enjoyed the thunderstruck expression on Johnson's face. "And if you were after something more traditional…" Siannon closed her eyes and let her fingers pick out the familiar strains of 'O'Carolan's Welcome', resting her hands against the strings as she air came to an end. The sound of clapping made her open her eyes again; Simon had appeared in the doorway and the two of them were giving her a very enthusiastic round of applause.

"You are bloody good, though I suppose I should have expected it," said Johnson. "I hope that once Torchwood has moved into St James', you'll bring that," she nodded at the harp, "along with you some time."

"I have every intention of doing so; the acoustics in the place before all the work started were just fantastic. If you're lucky I might be able to persuade Myfanwy to do a duet; she's rather fond of music."

"Sod off, Siannon."

"No seriously, she is," Siannon protested.

"I suppose I'll find out," Johnson said with an irritated sounding sigh as she turned to leave the room.

Siannon laid aside the clairseach to the sound of Simon's barely restrained laughter as he made his escape back up the stairs, while Johnson muttered at him unintelligibly. She was 100% serious about taking it along to Torchwood's new home, even if Myfanwy's appreciation of music only stretched as far as allowing it to settle her down when she was fidgety. She gave the case an affectionate pat as she closed it, smiling wistfully as she flipped the catches. It had been Ianto who only half seriously suggested she play to a crotchety Myfanwy – probably because he was exasperated with her – and O'Carolan's Welcome had been one of his favourite tunes when she had; she could think of worse people to remember when playing the harp than Ianto.

*

The conversion of St James from place of worship to home of Torchwood proceeded at a good pace, though still not fast enough for Siannon. She was impatient to have everything in place before Gwen and Rhys' child made its appearance into the world, but building work could only be done at a certain pace before safety was compromised and she would not take a chance on that. The tower was done, Myfanwy's eyrie having been established in the place she had found for herself, with the entrance made to resemble the other windows of the bell tower (now without its bell) and triggered by Myfanwy's locator chip but she still seemed to prefer to spend most of her time with her adopted flock in their warehouse home, probably because the construction work at St James was far too noisy for her; Siannon didn't blame her. One unexpected development had been the discovery of previously unknown cellars and tunnels beneath the church, that apparently headed in the direction of the old hospital only a few hundred yards away. They didn't quite reach the hospital and Siannon had to wonder at the intention behind them, and whether there were corresponding ones beneath the hospital that had never made it all the way to the church; she would probably never know for certain. The tunnels were well built, lined with brick and looked eerily like some of those at the old Hub, all fine examples of Victorian construction. They also stayed at a fairly constant temperature which made them ideal as a potential home for the new Torchwood archive. Siannon still hoped that one day they would find another way into the tunnels beneath the Hub bypassing the locked down blast doors that had saved so much of the surrounding area from the same destruction that it had suffered, possibly related to the railway that had once existed to keep Torchwood in Wales, Scotland and England connected, but that was a project for a later time when they were more settled and UNIT had left. Much as she trusted Bambera and her immediate team, there was no way Siannon wanted even a whisper of a rumour that they were looking for alternate access to the old Hub to get back to the rest of UNIT; she didn't trust _them_ as far as she could throw them.

*

There had been nothing recognisable or useable retrieved from the ruins of the Hub for a while when Bambera requested Siannon accompany Gwen to the site. In her heart Siannon knew what the meeting would entail, but she didn't want to think about it and judging by Gwen's tight-lipped expression she had exactly the same suspicions. For the first time in ages they were escorted by Ross Jenkins to Bambera's office, whereupon he stationed himself outside the door.

"To keep prying eyes and ears away," he said with a quirk of lips that was more grimace than smile. Gwen nodded at him, and Siannon patted him on the shoulder as she walked past, in acknowledgement and thanks.

In the office, Bambera, Ancelyn and Beth Sullivan were milling around the desk which seemed to have been taken over by charts and plans, though Bambera sighed and sat down as Gwen and Siannon entered. Ancelyn took up a position beside her chair and Siannon didn't miss the way that he placed his hand on the back of it in such a way that Bambera could lean against him without it being obvious. Gwen didn't bother sitting down.

For a moment, there was nothing but uncomfortable silence between them, despite the waves of empathy Siannon swore she could feel swirling around the room; this was news that Bambera clearly did not want to disclose. She decided to save them all the hassle of trying to find suitably sympathetic words and cut through the Gordian Knot of tension to the heart of the matter.

"How long have we got?" Siannon asked.

Bambera looked startled. "What?"

If she hadn't been so concerned herself, Siannon would have found wrong-footing Bambera amusing. Obviously the woman hadn't counted on Siannon being so blunt.

"Before everything needs to be filled in. How much time?"

"Ah. You heard?"

"No, we didn't hear," Gwen said. "But we have been expecting to for some time. Siannon," Gwen paused and gave Siannon a fond, if exasperated glance, "can't always be bothered with 'beating around the bush'." Siannon smiled back at her and noticed Ancelyn fighting a smile of his own at Bambera's side.

"We've managed to negotiate for two months," Bambera replied. "It wouldn't take that long to simply make the area safe, reconstruct the water tower and have the Plas reflagged but we've taken steps to ensure that there will be a limited amount of access preserved against a possible future where you can get those blast doors raised and gain entrance from another area." Siannon kept her face impassive, careful not to confirm or deny Bambera's implication.

"And just how would you propose to do that?" Gwen asked.

"Vaulting," said Ancelyn. "Instead of just filling it all in, we have the wherewithal to create what will in effect become tunnels linking all the doors…"

"Potentially giving you access while it all appears solid from the surface," Bambera continued.

"With enough trickery in place to confuse surface scans such as sonar," concluded Beth.

Siannon could only assume that they'd been given Carte Blanche to help the remnants of Torchwood from a lot higher up than the normal UNIT hierarchy of command; she for one was immensely grateful. It seemed that Gwen was too as she almost ran round the table and gave Bambera – and a somewhat nonplussed Ancelyn – a massive hug, murmuring 'thank you, thank you' while she did. It was a massive reprieve and one that Siannon had not expected, despite knowing where Bambera's sympathies lay with regards to Torchwood. It might take years but they had the potential to be able to access the archives again and Siannon at least had time on her side; she grinned.

"I think that calls for a celebratory drink," she said.

"I'm afraid we don't have anything stronger than tea," Beth said.

"Speak for yourself," Siannon and Ancelyn answered in unison. She wasn't sure where Ancelyn had secreted his flask but she had hers in her coat; sometimes emergency alcohol was more use than a traditional weapon.

They drank to the future from battered and chipped mugs; it seemed very appropriate. They even saved some for Ross, steadfastly on guard outside the door until Beth called him in. Siannon knew they had forged more than an alliance; she would count the people in this room as her friends for as long as they lived.

 

*

 

Gwen looked in the mirror as she ran her hands over her bump; she was going to have to get proper maternity clothes as even the drawstring waist of her loosest pair of combats had become tight. No-one had mentioned the steady transition from tight jeans with heels to looser ones with flats and then on to combats but she had caught the odd smile on Siannon's face, which she expected, and surprisingly on Johnson's, which she hadn't. Rhys came up behind and laid his large, warm hands over hers, leaning over her shoulder as he smiled down at her bump.

"Hello baby," he said. "Your mam is looking especially gorgeous today and I might just have to make her late for work."

Gwen tilted her head back for a kiss, which Rhys obligingly provided, then she broke away from him with a slap to his wrist as he reached for her.

"No you don't, Rhys Williams. Neither of us can afford to be late." She laughed as he pouted at her.

"Rain check?" he asked, giving her his patented puppy dog eyes – to which she was fortunately immune or she really would be late.

"Oh, you," she said affectionately and stole another kiss before she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

When she arrived at the base, Siannon, Johnson and Simon weren't there.

"Debris collection," Lois explained as Gwen stowed her bag and jacket. "Probably leftovers of that meteor shower that wasn't a meteor shower." She sounded like she'd always worked for Torchwood, not for the short while she had done; Gwen felt both pride and sadness for that.

"Hopefully that's all it is," she replied as she shared a grin with Lois.

"Fingers crossed."

The others returned with several containment boxes, but no news of any surviving creature or technology. Gwen didn't know whether to be frustrated or relieved; the rift hadn't spat out anything of major interest in ages and she felt like nothing more than a glorified cleaner. In one way she supposed, that was all Torchwood had ever been, it was certainly what Susie Costello had thought.

*

Although she was aware of how frustrated Gwen felt at their relative inactivity, Siannon had reason to be thankful; it gave them more time to gel as a team. Missions that involved living things were bound to be more difficult, though hostile aliens were dealt with easily enough – they just left them for Johnson – and weevil chases were almost a form of routine exercise in which they all participated.

It was after one such 'routine' weevil chase that Lois greeted them back with a frown rather than her usual cheery hello.

"Problem?" asked Siannon as she made coffee, she'd started drinking it again after Johnson's arrival even though every cup was still a reminder; Gwen usually made her own tea.

"Possibly," Lois replied. "There've been reports of an orange, six foot tall humanoid breaking into electrical stores."

Siannon grinned. "Are you sure it isn’t just a Valley Girl in heels and false tan after a long night out?"

"Who lost her phone and needs to replace it…" Simon continued. There was an answering flicker of a smile across Lois' face before it faded.

"I think it might be the real deal; it was called in by Andy, he said it looked like one of our 'spooky dos' from what he could tell."

"I'm inclined to trust Andy's judgement" Gwen said. "He's seen enough weird Torchwood stuff to be able to tell a wasted valley girl from an alien. Siannon?"

"Your call, you know him better than me."

"Let's go, then," Gwen said. "You too, Lois."

"Me?"

"There's no coordination to be done back here, we know where we're going after all."

"And don't you want to be a part of Operation Tango?" Siannon asked. There was a muffled chuckle from behind her but she didn't try to guess who it had been; she was glad that Lois was coming along and if lightening the mood helped the girl, then that was what she would do.

*

When Siannon had laughingly named the mission 'Operation Tango' she hadn't expected that their orange alien actually would be tango-orange coloured. That and the too-long arms that ended in hands with too many fingers made it obvious that this certainly was no half-drunk, belligerent valley girl, as did the weapon the alien had trained on the police. To Siannon's still somewhat inexpert eye the weapon looked like it had been modified with bits and pieces of earth electronics, probably the reason tango-alien had been hitting electrical outlets.

There were riot police present but they were keeping well back and Siannon followed Gwen as she headed towards Andy.

"Why the riot police, Andy?" Gwen asked. Siannon sighed, for a former copper Gwen was sometimes a bit dense.

"Guns," said Siannon. "With rubber bullets I presume?" Andy nodded at her question.

"Fat lot of good they've been though, they don't touch the bugger; bounce right off," he said.

"Which suggests some sort of protective force field. I wonder if it does the same thing with real bullets, could cause problems if it does," Gwen mused.

"I suppose we'll find out," Siannon added. "Guess we'd best go talk to him."

It didn't come as much surprise to Siannon that tango-alien wasn't much interested in talking and they also had the opportunity to discover that normal bullets ricocheted off his personal shield just like the rubber ones had. Siannon headed over to Simon and Lois where they stood with their heads close together over a PDA.

"Tell me you've found a weakness in that shield," she said. She was not really expecting a positive answer so the half smile on Simon's face was a surprise.

"Possibly," he said. "Though we could ideally do with a bit more data to confirm it."

"I'm not sure you're going to get more data that would leave us all standing; what's the possible weakness?"

"It seems to block high energy projectiles – and probably high energy wavelengths too – which would account for him not firing that gun since the shield was raised. Use a low energy projectile and it looks like you might be able to slip through the shield."

"A low energy projectile; say, like a blade?"

"Exactly," Simon replied. Siannon snorted with disbelief.

"How very convenient," she commented. "Good job we have two people who know how to use swords, then, isn't it? We'd best let Gwen know."

Gwen did not like the idea and didn't hesitate to tell them that, loudly, and more than once. As her tirade finally seemed to run out of steam Siannon was pleased to see that Johnson stepped forward before she could do so herself.

"I don't see any other way of dealing with this; we're at an impasse. I'm sure it would not have been suggested if it wasn't a viable option," Johnson said. Siannon acknowledged the nod Johnson gave her with a tight smile.

"Maybe not, but…" Gwen snapped, then grabbed hold of Siannon's arm and hauled her to one side; Siannon let herself be hauled, she had a pretty damn good idea what was at the root of Gwen's reservations.

"So?" Siannon asked when Gwen didn't seem to be ready to broach the subject without prompting.

"How can you trust her with a sword in a combat situation?" Gwen hissed.

"Same way as I trust her with a sword in a practise situation. She doesn't know about immortals, why would she go for my head? Plus this is a chance for me to prove to her that sword work is useful and a chance for her to prove to me that she's listened and takes our sessions seriously. We'll be fine, but Mr Tango might not be…"

"There's no other way?"

"None that I can see if you want him," Siannon jerked her head in the direction of the sullen, orange alien, "out of your hair."

"I still don't like it."

"You don't have to like it, you just have to let us get on with it. Now if that's all, I need to speak to Johnson."

The plan, though Siannon knew Gwen would never agree that it was a plan rather than an accident waiting to happen, was simple; Gwen would distract the alien by being obvious while Siannon and Johnson would sneak up, swords in hand, ready to test Simon's hypothesis that a blade would pierce the alien's protective shield. Once subdued they would either pack him back off home through the rift or destroy him. Siannon was hoping for the rift option; like Gwen, she was sick of the incessant killing.

Siannon should have remembered that no plan, however loosely the word applied, ever went as intended when Torchwood was involved.

Gwen played her role well, in part because it was genuine; she was trying to negotiate with the orange alien, to ascertain its motivation and assess its willingness to leave. Siannon was impressed when Gwen wore her diplomatic head as she could barely understand where she found the patience; patience wasn't exactly either her or Gwen's forte, though they both had the advantage over Johnson.

The lilt of Gwen's voice and the alien's distorted replies faded into background noise as Siannon concentrated on her own and Johnson's next moves. Progressing silently and slowly enough not to trigger an automatic detection of rapid movement wasn't difficult for either of them but it did require focus. They were almost in position when something about the cadence of Gwen's speech alerted Siannon that all was not well; she signalled Johnson should continue though her own focus shifted. Time seemed to slow to a crawl around her, enabling Siannon to see what would happen, what _did_ happen, precious moments before anyone else, but it made no difference for although she felt like she could see with preternatural awareness she couldn't move fast enough. Immortal she may be, but Siannon was only human.

An overlong, orange arm lashed out at Gwen, even though the distance appeared too great for physical contact. The arm didn't touch her but the protective shield hit her with a sickening, fleshy thud that knocked her clear off her feet. Siannon could only watch helplessly as she ran – too slow, too damn slow – while Gwen tried to curl protectively around the swell of her belly as she fell.

Siannon skidded the remaining distance and crashed to her knees beside Gwen who had remained where she landed, arms tight around herself.

"Oh god. The baby, the baby," Gwen whimpered.

There was a distorted hiss from the direction of the alien, the only sound in the stunned silence. Siannon glanced up; he appeared to be laughing. She took a deep breath and straightened, one hand remaining in contact with Gwen.

"You have made your last mistake," she said coldly, not taking her eyes off him.

"Last mistake? I think not. You…" the words were cut off with a strangled gasp as a sword point emerged from his chest; he looked surprised. It disappeared only for the blade to carefully slice at what Simon had hoped was the shield power-pack. The alien spun and swung his gun into position as an electronic fizzing indicated that Simon had probably been right. The alien never saw Johnson, close against the ground, as she fired the kill shot.

Chaos erupted around them but Siannon ignored it, her attention was all on Gwen even as she cursed the fact that her medical bag, and more importantly the Bekaran scanner it concealed, was inside the van.

"Gwen. Gwen. I need to check you over. Come on now, let me see." Gwen slowly loosened from her tight curl. "Yes, that's it." Siannon kept her voice pitched low and steady, a point of calm on which Gwen could focus. "Deep breaths now. That's good, that's good." There was a soft thump beside her and Siannon glanced aside as the Bekaran scanner was thrust into her hand by Lois. She breathed a sigh of relief and switched it on. The quiet beeps of the scanner seemed eerily loud but the initial scan did not reveal anything life threatening for either mother or baby; it needed to be reset for a more in depth scan but that would have to wait. Siannon glanced up to find Gwen white and wild-eyed, chewing at her bottom lip.

"So far so good," Siannon said. "We need to get you back to base for a more thorough scan."

"Ok. What about…"

"I think we can let Johnson and Simon worry about everything else. Lois is going to drive us back, then she can return to assist with clean up. Think you can stand?"

"I can bloody well try," Gwen said and gave Siannon a shaky but determined looking smile. Siannon nodded and offered Gwen her arm, but said nothing else.

 *

 Lois drove them back like she was channelling The Stig but all Siannon could feel was relief that the journey was over quickly.

As soon as she'd managed to get Gwen safely ensconced in the med bay, Siannon sent Lois back to the others with the van. While most of her reasons for that were altruistic – Johnson and Simon would need the help with clean up, she was sure – there was a part of her that just wanted to get everyone else out of the way of any potential explosion that resulted from the results of Gwen's scans. So far, the baby seemed to be fine.

"You do know we're going to have to tell Rhys about this," Siannon said as she passed the Bekaran scanner over the swell of Gwen's exposed belly.

"If the baby is OK I don't see why…"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Gwen. Your hip is black and blue from where you hit the floor, your elbow isn't much better and as for where tango-alien hit you… put it this way, Rhys is going to know you were knocked down as soon as he looks at you. He'll be worried sick anyway, but imagine what he'll be like if he's kept in the dark. Think, Gwen! This isn't just about you and him any more."

Siannon frowned down at Gwen, who bit her lip and closed her eyes, seeming to shrink down into herself as the defiance left her expression. It was almost enough to make Siannon feel guilty for yelling at her. Almost. She sighed.

"The baby?" Gwen asked, her voice slightly unsteady. Siannon glanced at the scanner, before resetting it for another pass.

"Seems to be fighting fit. A little shaken up I think, but I'm sure you could tell that by the amount of movement. You've both been lucky this time; next time you might not be."

"There won't be a next time." The unsteadiness in Gwen's voice sounded like it had firmed into determination.

"You're right, there won't be a next time. I'm going to make sure of that, but probably not in the way you think," Siannon said as she glared at Gwen.

"What?!" Gwen tried to sit up, but Siannon pushed her back down again so she could complete the scan. She probably hadn't been as gentle as she should have been, but she had made sure she wasn't actually near any of Gwen's bruises as she pressed her back onto the examination bed.

"You're going on desk duty as of today," she announced.

"I can't!" There was another attempt to sit up, though Siannon was ready for it with a restraining hand and Gwen barely managed to move her shoulders off the bed.

"You can and you will, and no amount of arguing is going to get me to change my mind; I'm the Torchwood medical officer and I'm making the decision in the best interest of everyone's health. None of us would want to deal with the aftermath of what could have happened today. Anyway, we've been training Lois up for just this point in time, so we'll be fine. If you so much as breathe in the direction of a weevil or anything else without me granting permission, I'll tie you to your fucking chair. Got that?"

Gwen gave Siannon a decidedly non-committal sounding grunt and avoided eye contact.

"I mean it, Gwen. I won't back down, so don't even think about trying whatever deviousness is going through your head. I won't have it, and you'd regret trying, I can guarantee that."

"I wasn't…"

"Oh don’t give me that fucking crap, I know you too well. You do realise you aren't going to be able to wrap me round your little finger like you do with Rhys, don't you? Just accept your new physical limitations for what they are: a sign that your baby needs you more now, in order to prepare for the shock of the outside world. It's not just you and Rhys who want the baby to be OK, we all do, and we're more than happy to compensate for any physical stuff you can't do to make sure it stays that way."

"When you put it like that… Maybe you're right."

"I know I am." Siannon waved the Bekaran scanner at Gwen in lieu of stating the obvious. Gwen glared at her.

"Hmph."

Siannon finished the scan with no further interruptions from Gwen, for which she was very grateful because as her immediate worries were reassured, Siannon had been getting more exasperated with Gwen, which wasn't entirely a surprise. She didn't think Gwen realised just how thankful she was when the Bekaran scanner showed that there had been no damage to the baby, or major damage to mum. Gwen was resilient, the bruises and contusions would heal, but her baby was a living embodiment of new beginnings for them all. As she put the Bekaran scanner away, her eyes caught on the ultrasound machine in the corner. For everyday use, the Bekaran scanner was far superior to anything else she had at her disposal, but it required a certain degree of skill to interpret the images it showed. An ultrasound, with its more familiar images and hard copy that could be kept, might be a very good idea. She turned back towards Gwen, who was sitting on the edge of the examination couch, putting herself back together.

"I was thinking I could use this fancy new machine in the corner for a change, and do a good, old fashioned ultrasound scan while everyone is out. We could even invite Rhys over so he can see for himself that baby is fine; it would probably be a hell of a lot more reassuring than having me wave the Bekaran scanner in his face and waffling medical jargon at him. What do you think?"

When Gwen turned to face Siannon, her eyes were huge in her face and her smile only marginally less so.

"Yeah. That's... Yeah, I think he'd love to. I know I would."

"Then that's settled. Give him a call and I'll make sure the others know to take their time getting back here." Siannon made her way to the door, intending to give Gwen some privacy for her phone call to Rhys. She'd only just reached out to grab the handle when there was the sound of Gwen clearing her throat behind her. Siannon didn't turn around.

"Siannon?" Gwen asked, she sounded almost hesitant. Siannon looked over her shoulder; Gwen was still perched on the examination couch, her legs swinging like a child's.

"Yeah?"

"I just… Oh hell. You know I… What I mean is… Thanks. I know I'm not easy to deal with at times, but I do appreciate what you do." The smile she gave Siannon was gentle, genuine and full of hope. Siannon returned it kind.

"You're welcome," she replied, and let herself out of the med bay, careful to make sure that Gwen didn't see or hear the huge sigh of relief she gave as she closed the door. Disaster of Cooper proportions averted yet again, which was something Siannon knew would be happening with greater regularity now that Gwen was desk bound, but for all that it was a headache, it was something she wouldn't change for the world.

It was obvious that the scan had been a good idea when both Gwen *and* Rhys left the Torchwood base wreathed in smiles. Rhys had displayed exactly the sort of protective behaviour she had expected, but Gwen had surprised her by being the very soul of tact and diplomacy as she mentioned that a warm bath and a massage would do both mother and baby the world of good. It seemed she'd had enough of confrontation for the day, for which Siannon was truly thankful; not just for herself, but for all their sakes.

Once Gwen and Rhys had left she straightened up the med bay, a delaying tactic to be sure, but she was in a cheerful, if somewhat twisted mood, and she felt like leaving the others to stew for a short while. When she finally did emerge, she was confronted by a barrage of stares.

"That appeared to go more smoothly than expected," Johnson said. It wasn't a question – quite – but Johnson was still fishing for an answer.

"Oh?" Siannon queried with false innocence; two could play at that game after all and she'd had centuries of practice.

Johnson frowned. "Well, they were both standing and had not obviously suffered any further damage when they left," she added.

"And smiling, don't forget the smiling," Lois said with a grin of her own.

"Which could lead us to assume it went well," concluded Simon. "If we were in the habit of assuming anything, that is. Which we aren't."

"Not a bad habit to have round here, but yeah, mum, dad and baby are all fine. I even have the evidence to prove it." She carefully waved a print out of the ultrasound scan just out of everyone's sight and reach. "However, there is one thing we need to discuss first; something that heralds a major change in Torchwood policy, starting today."

There were varying noises of polite enquiry from Johnson, Simon and Lois. Siannon gave them a smile as she joined them at the table and placed the printout of the scan in the centre. She gave them a few seconds to have a look and then leaned back in her chair so she could see them all easily.

"As from today, Gwen is on non-active duty."

"That's a relief," Lois said. Siannon knew she'd been quite worried about Gwen, more than she had actually admitted to the others, and Lois had approached her as the best source of information.

Siannon smiled to herself; her next pearl of wisdom was very much relevant to Lois.

"Gwen being deskbound means that you, Lois, will now take up your position as a fully fledged member of the Torchwood team," she said.

Lois let out an odd, undignified sort of sound that wavered somewhere between a strangled whoop of joy and a squeal of not-quite fright.

"You're sure I'm ready? I mean I… Me! I was just a bloody PA!"

"I'm sure. You've been a damn sight more than 'just a bloody PA' since you first came into contact with Torchwood. You put your life on the line for us," Siannon said. She meant every word; she'd heard from Gwen just what Lois had done during the 456 fiasco and couldn't help but admire her for it.

"Not to mention that you've worked hard towards this, Lois; in fact we all have," Johnson said. She narrowed her eyes slightly and frowned at Lois before she continued. "There is one thing, though…"

"Only one?" Lois asked, she looked like she was trying not to smile.

Johnson nodded. "At present. I'll inform you if any more come to my attention."

"And?" Lois prompted.

"You're going to have to remember to carry your gun. We didn't put all that work into making sure you could use it just for you not to carry it. Feeling guilty for being a good shot is no excuse."

Siannon bit back a laugh. "Johnson, stop being so bloody intimidating. This calls for a celebration," she said.

"Not going to argue with that," Simon agreed.

"I'll even buy the first round," Siannon added.

"Don't go overboard!" Lois said, the grin on her face proof that she'd given up on trying to hold it back.

 "You're worth it. After today I think we could all use an excuse to celebrate being alive," Simon commented. "Johnson, you can think of it as a team-building exercise if you want, but you're going with us. No arguing."

They all dissolved into laughter, Johnson included. As ever, Siannon couldn't help but be surprised at how much younger Johnson looked when she laughed.

As for the needing an excuse to celebrate being alive, she agreed whole heartedly. It wouldn't just be Lois taking her place in the team that they would be drinking to though, she knew they would raise a glass in thanks to whatever entity wanted to take responsibility for it that nothing worse had happened to Gwen or the baby, even if they didn't admit to such aloud. Their struggle to become Torchwood in truth and not just in name was in big part due to Gwen and her dogged refusal to give up; a bit of Welsh stubbornness had come in very handy at times.

As their laughter quieted, Siannon raised her head to be confronted by Johnson's penetrating gaze. Johnson gave her a small nod of acknowledgement that informed Siannon that Johnson at least knew full well what had potentially been at risk and was not afraid to admit it; Torchwood wasn't the only thing that was attempting to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of its previous self after all.

*

It was with a curious sense of both dread and anticipation that Gwen found herself waiting for the day that they finally laid Jack's Torchwood to rest. Their new home at St James' still wasn't ready, which Gwen found intensely frustrating, but she agreed with Siannon that it needed to be as complete as it could be prior to them moving in. Anything that still had to be done would be things that they would have to do themselves; there was only so much with which non-Torchwood personal could be trusted, even if they were aware of, and were employed by, immortals. Gwen also wanted the bones of the Plas healed on the surface, so the gaping hole of where Torchwood had been was no longer a constant physical reminder of what she had lost. She rubbed her ever expanding bump – the baby seemed to have had a massive growth spurt once Siannon had put her on inactive duty – and was soundly kicked from within as if her baby was expressing displeasure of the maudlin state of Gwen's thoughts. Gwen sighed, and gave her bump a light pat.

"Okay baby, I take the hint; look to the future, don’t dwell on the past. But I'll have you know that if it wasn't for Jack's Torchwood, you wouldn't be here, so don't be so hasty to disagree with everything it stood for; you're too much like your dad." The baby gave her one last kick and then seemed to settle. Gwen chuckled. "Having said that, baby, if you ever do meet Jack, you have my full permission to kick him, even if it is in twenty or thirty years. Maybe I should tell Siannon…"

"Maybe you should tell me what?"

Gwen hadn't heard Siannon enter, but she wasn't entirely surprised – the woman moved like a cat half the time, popping up when and where she was least expected. Gwen was sure Siannon did it on purpose, to keep them all on their toes; it worked more often than not. She turned to give Siannon a smile.

"Oh, only that I've given this little one permission to kick Jack if they ever meet face to face," Gwen said.

Siannon chuckled as she detached herself from the door frame. "You can tell the baby that yourself when the time comes, though I do promise to remind you. A thorough kicking every now and again is good for everyone's soul, especially Jack's."

"That sounds ominously like the voice of experience," Gwen said as she eased herself into the chair at her desk. "Should I be worried?"

Siannon took up her customary perch on the desk and shrugged. "Not really. Jack and I took out our frustration with each other actually _on_ each other a time or two, that's all. Immortal healing has its advantages."

"Well, that's a different sort of stress management at least. Is it going to become a standard method for Torchwood?" Gwen was having trouble keeping the grin that wanted to spread over her face under control, as her brain supplied her with several unhelpful mental images.

"It works for Johnson, kind of. As for the rest of you… probably only if you've been really bad," Siannon said.

"I shudder to think what you're going to class as 'really bad'."

"Oh, you'll find out if you need to, I'm sure," Siannon said as she got to her feet. "I don't think you need to worry for a while as baby will give you all the kicking you need with no help from me."

"Awkward child," Gwen said, and gave her bump a pat just in case the baby wasn't happy with being called awkward, even if it was true.

"Can't think where that came from…"

"Oi!" Gwen swatted at Siannon as she danced back, laughing. "You'd better watch yourself because once I'm able to I might be more than happy to demonstrate just what a good Welsh kicking entails. There's a good reason why rugby's popular in this country, you know."

"I'll look forward to it. We could let Johnson referee, even sell tickets. We'd make a fortune and it'd be a great way to raise some extra funds…"

Gwen couldn't help but dissolve into giggles, which were unfortunately cut short by another hefty kick from the baby. She rubbed her belly gingerly.

"Hey baby, laughter is supposed to be good for us both. Now stop that." She was a bit miffed with the baby, to be honest. She didn't feel like she got to laugh very much any more as it was, without internal interference. And of course feeling like that also made her feel guilty. Lovely. There was another, gentler kick right under her hand, then the movement stilled. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Probably just expressing an opinion about my little fund raising scheme. Objection noted, baby," Siannon said.

Gwen gave Siannon a rueful smile. "You could well be right." She sighed again. "Still, I'm sure you didn't come back here," she indicated her office space, "to discuss the relative merits of a good kicking."

"Maybe not, but I'm glad we did."

"Yeah." Gwen gave Siannon a wide grin, which was returned but then settled into an altogether more pensive expression on Siannon's face. "What is it?" Gwen asked. Siannon glanced at her, but wouldn't make eye contact, so it obviously wasn't anything pleasant.

"Bambera asked if we wanted to be present when they finish the consolidation of the Hub."

No, not pleasant in the slightest. Gwen fought back an instinctive shudder. "You mean when they fill it in," she said.

"Yeah. She was trying to be diplomatic. Ancelyn didn't look terribly impressed at her choice of words either."

"I can imagine." Gwen had become fond of the time-and-universe displaced knight and she knew Siannon felt the same. It didn't hurt that Ancelyn treated them both with an old fashioned chivalry that somehow managed not to be condescending in the slightest. "I can't believe how fast the time has gone. I'm not sure I'm ready for this," she admitted.

Siannon nodded in agreement. "I understand, but I do feel that someone ought to be there to pay our last respects. Having said that, it doesn't have to be you, you know. We are a team after all."

Gwen struggled out of the chair and started to pace. "I know, but I feel like it should be me. I was there at the end, when it was destroyed, so don't I have a duty to see it laid to rest? I think I should be there, but to be honest, I don’t want to be and neither does this little one." She rubbed her bump gently, she didn't want to disturb the baby, but she felt the need to offer some reassurance.

"Then you don't go; I will. I might not have been there at the end, but I least I remember the place as it was. I think I'll take Johnson with me."

"What!"

"I want her to witness the futility of the destruction she wrought. After all, when the work is complete, there'll be no evidence of what she did and yet Torchwood not only exists, it is thriving and she is now a part of it."

"But will she see it like that?"

"Johnson's not stupid, she'll get the point. Plus, after what she did to Jack at Ashton Down, it seems appropriate."

"That's kind of… cruel, Siannon. She's a team member now, I thought we were supposed to have forgiven her."

"Forgiven? Maybe; she wasn't exactly acting on her own behalf. I respect and appreciate Johnson, her skills and the strength she demonstrated in coming to us but I still think she needs the occasional reminder that I, at least, haven't entirely forgotten."

Gwen couldn't help but shiver a little at the reminder of Siannon's rarely displayed ruthlessness; she was relieved they were on the same side. "The part of me that still wants to call vengeance down on her agrees with you," she said. "The rest… well, I'm glad you're taking responsibility for this so I don't have to think about it."

"Then it's settled. I'll talk to Bambera, Johnson too, and make the necessary arrangements." Siannon nodded and left the office as soundlessly as she'd arrived. Gwen stared at her retreating back, and then the empty doorway, before she gave herself a shake; it was time to get back to work.

*

Siannon took a deep breath as she unclenched her fingers in her pockets, grateful for the salt tang from the bay that lay under the more pervasive smell of dust and wet concrete. Judging by the pinched look around Johnson's eyes as she stared at the damply shining surface of the newly filled in crater in the Plas, Siannon's point certainly had not been lost on her. It apparently hadn't been lost on Ancelyn either, as even dressed in the quasi-military fusion of off duty UNIT personnel, along with his leather coat of many pockets, he still had the bearing of someone who was used to wearing full armour. Once a knight, always a knight, even if you weren't immortal; she could relate to that. He also gazed out over the expanse of still-wet concrete though his eyes didn't hold the same sort of pain that had appeared in Johnson's. As she watched him, she realised the last of the tension that had plagued her had finally seeped away and she breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

"Torchwood is dead," he murmured, and glanced aside at her. "Long live Torchwood," he added in a slightly louder voice.

Siannon ducked her head to hide an almost inappropriate half-smile; she couldn't deny that something similar had been going through her own head, but it was kind of fitting that it was Ancelyn who gave it voice.

"It is fortunate, is it not," he continued, "that like any true kingdom, Torchwood was as much about the people as the place?"

"It is indeed fortunate, Sir Ancelyn," Siannon replied. "Perhaps more than anyone realises."

"And with such people!" He said, with a bow in her direction and a slight frown at Johnson.

Siannon knew that Ancelyn had the utmost respect for Gwen and herself and while he had some reservations about their decision to include Johnson in the Torchwood team they were building – not that she could blame him as she'd had more than a few reservations too – he trusted their judgement. Siannon didn't think his trust in Gwen was misplaced, though she still doubted herself at times. Gwen was Torchwood to her very soul, as Ianto had been, and Siannon knew that she wasn't, not in the same way; she was too old and world-weary to be so ideological, something she knew Methos understood very well.

In her opinion, Johnson showed signs of heading in the same direction; so far her loyalty to Torchwood had been a conscious decision, a way of making amends that appealed to her sense of justice, but Siannon didn't think it would be long before Torchwood became Johnson's life at a deep, instinctive level and owned her completely - body, heart and soul.

*

With the crater of Torchwood-that-was filled in, Siannon knew it would be only a matter of time before UNIT pulled out and finally left them to their own devices. She found she was somewhat conflicted about the prospect, alternately looking forward to it and dreading it. She knew Gwen felt the same. It would be a vulnerable time for their new team, when they would either fly high or plummet into oblivion. Siannon's bets were on flying, even if she was wary of being too optimistic at times. She would also miss Ancelyn, Bambera, Ross and Beth, as would Gwen, even if they still didn't trust any of the UNIT personnel who hadn't been personally vetted by Bambera.

One advantage of the major part of the Torchwood recovery and consolidation being complete was that the numbers of 'normal' UNIT personnel had been reduced. As the commanding officer responsible for the operation, Bambera remained, which meant her immediate team did too. Siannon knew they wouldn't be there much longer, the city of Cardiff wanted all reminders of the destruction, and for that matter the existence of Torchwood, removed, which meant that UNIT would only be there until the water tower was reconstructed on the Plas. The tourist office entrance would remain closed, the secret door forever sealed, but it seemed the old team hadn't been completely forgotten as on the wire barrier that had been placed over the 'front' door a solitary card forlornly hung in splendid isolation, a thank you for their custom from their favourite coffee shop.

That the bones of the Hub still existed below their feet was something that certain people in Cardiff might suspect, the presence of Torchwood hadn't always been the best kept secret after all, but only Siannon and Gwen knew for certain how extensive the tunnels had been, and that was the way they were going to keep it, for the present, even after they'd moved into their new home at St James' just a couple of miles away. What happened in the future was something else entirely but they hadn't set any sort of time limit.

What Siannon hadn't told Gwen – or any of the others for that matter – was that besides the purchase of St James', she'd taken other steps towards potentially securing Torchwood's future, steps which might also be a significant factor in being able to gain access the currently _in_ accessible archives. The old Cardiff Bay railway station building had been abandoned for a while, though its fabric was sound, and was being sold with the suggestion that it could be used for some sort of social or leisure use. What Siannon hoped, but hadn't discussed with Gwen, was that the Torchwood underground railway had run in the direction of the Cardiff Bay station and that if had, they would be able to access the Torchwood tunnels, and therefore the archives, from it. Nothing was certain, however. In the meantime she thought she rather liked the idea of owning a bar; she wouldn't be the first immortal to do so, or the last, but despite her hopes for the future it was a project that would have to wait until Torchwood had moved into its new home at St James', and was settled.

*

Gwen heaved herself out of her car and rubbed her aching back as she walked – she wasn't quite at the waddling stage yet – towards the front door. It was getting more and more difficult to force herself to come in to work, even if she was only in the office, especially after an appointment that consisted of what felt like her and the baby being poked and prodded to within an inch of their lives. She was well aware that Siannon knew this and was probably watching her like a hawk for signs that indicated she could physically or mentally no longer cope with work. Sooner rather than later one of them would decide that Gwen needed to go on official mat leave and the way she was feeling that day, Gwen rather thought that might be her, though she doubted Siannon would utter a single word in protest.

There was no-one in the office when she entered, though there did seem to be some commotion that involved laughter from the main area, along with some very interested sounded squawking from Myfanwy's perch. Somewhat dubiously, she headed towards the door and as she opened it to walk through, almost ran into Johnson on the other side. Johnson was standing at some distance from the others, which caused a pang of regret to run through Gwen – too often she seemed to hold herself aloof – until she realised that Johnson was smiling just as widely as any of the others, including Ancelyn, who along with Siannon was the focus of the laughing group.

"OK, just what have you lot been up to while I wasn't here to keep an eye on you?" Gwen asked Johnson, with a smile of her own.

"It seems that Ancelyn was bored, so Siannon offered to take him off Bambera's hands and 'keep him entertained' for a while. It all got rather Princess Bride after a bit. Very illuminating, and an enjoyable way to pass a couple of hours."

"Pri… You're a Princess Bride fan? YOU? The… that's…" Gwen was lost for words and resorted to vaguely waving a hand in Johnson's direction.

Johnson turned to her and grinned. "Inconceivable?" She offered.

"Oh God," Gwen choked out, and dissolved helplessly into giggles.

"I shall of course deny it vehemently if you so much as breathe a word to any of the others," Johnson said. "Though Siannon being Siannon, she probably already knows."

"Mmnngh," agreed Gwen, she was still finding words a problem and took a deep breath to get herself under control as she hung onto the door frame.

"Seriously, though, they are both scarily good. It brought it home to me that when Siannon says she's being easy on me, she's telling the absolute truth. I knew I had a lot to learn, but…" Johnson shrugged eloquently.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Johnson. Ancelyn was probably holding a sword before he could walk properly and Siannon has been doing sword work for a lot longer than you might think. Same goes for Richie." Gwen had to bite her tongue to stop herself from inadvertently saying more than she should; revealing Siannon's – and Richie's – immortality could be no-one else's decision except Siannon and Richie's, no matter what Gwen thought they should do.

"They're friends, it figures. Maybe I should ask him for some tips, at least I might end up with bruises in different places, not that I think he'll be any easier on me than she is." Johnson then turned back toward the room and looked like she was going to join the others, until she turned round with a sharp-eyed glance and caught Gwen surreptitiously rubbing her back. She frowned at Gwen.

"Maybe I'll just go and sit down," Gwen said. She didn't think she could stand it if Johnson started fussing around her.

"You do that. I might even be nice for a change and bring you a cup of tea. I don't think that lot," Johnson waved in the direction of the others, "would notice, or indeed have even realised you've returned."

They both disappeared back through the door. Gwen collapsed gratefully into *her* chair, the one that seemed to blissfully conform to her curves and support every aching bone and muscle while Johnson headed off to make tea. If making tea was going to be the extent of Johnson's fussing, Gwen decided that she could probably cope with it, as she certainly didn't think it would be something that happened very often.

*

Siannon sighed as she scrubbed the muck out of her hair. Another day, another weevil. She was just glad that most of them were able to be persuaded to retreat back to their sewer home, even if they weren't exactly content about the retreating. She was lucky that the one with which she'd been dealing had decided to just throw something unmentionable at her, rather than trying to eat her, before following its companion back below the streets.

Johnson, all credit to her, had kept a completely straight face through the entire proceedings, something that Siannon knew she would have been hard pressed to manage if their positions had been reversed, and had ordered Siannon home with the proviso that she was not to come back until she was decontaminated… effectively. Siannon hadn't missed the inaudible laugh in Johnson's eyes as she'd said it, either.

As she blinked water out of her eyes she decided she was as effectively decontaminated as she was going to get, even down to Johnson's stringent standards, and it was time to be getting back to base. For all Siannon found herself still wary of her at times, and she knew she probably would be until they were settled properly into St James' with Gwen at the helm, she'd found herself liking Johnson more with each passing day. Siannon could think of no-one better to have at her side in a situation where clear headed ruthlessness was called for and she knew Gwen felt the same. Johnson also had a wicked, if rather dry and deadpan sense of humour that tended to surface in blink and you'll miss it instances, much like her comment about decontamination. She also hadn't missed Johnson's subtle care and concern of Gwen, from the appearance of random cups of tea to keeping the others in line when Gwen was in the office and they were feeling frustrated with inactivity and had acknowledged them without fanfare, the way she knew Johnson would prefer.

She grinned at herself in the mirror as she braided her damp hair in preparation for getting back to work, and realised that a lot of the lines of tension that had shadowed her face had all but dissipated. Her green eyes shone back at her with optimism, not with sadness.

They were a team in truth and not just in name, even if they did have a few rough edges. Ianto would have been proud of them. Hell, she was proud of them and she knew Gwen was too, and rightly so, when she wasn't being a worry-wort. Siannon, as usual, didn't allow herself to wonder what Jack would have thought.

*

A few days later Gwen was trying not to get annoyed with herself when her brain just would not settle to dealing with the task in hand (which, she had to admit, wasn't very interesting at the best of times as admin wasn't her forte) and she kept on getting distracted by the baby moving, thinking about what would happen when the baby was born and she had to fit in work around this new and tiny person in her life and being thankful that Rhys was going to be a great dad. Woolgathering, her mother would have called it. It slowly dawned on her that she actually didn’t have any good reasons left for not going maternity leave. The team were still a bit rough round the edges, but they were just that – a team – and she had a sobering thought that she might possibly have been holding them back by not completely trusting to both Siannon and Johnson's professional judgement because she knew what some of Siannon's personal feelings, so like her own, were. The thought was a brief one as Gwen was perfectly aware just how hard both Siannon and herself had worked at not judging Johnson from her past actions, she just had to clamp down on the tendency to worry about absolutely everything that she'd developed in the last week or so.

She sighed, and leaned back in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. All the team were out on a mission and though she felt somewhat out of the loop, she found that beyond her base level of worrying, she didn't really care that she was out of the loop; she knew they could deal with whatever it was. This Brave New Torchwood might be as much her child as the baby inside her, but at least this child had another mother who would nurture, protect and fight for it in ways that Gwen could not.

It was probably as good a time as any to take a step away from Torchwood.

Decision made, Gwen closed her eyes and smiled; the baby kicked once, then settled.

"Happy now, baby? I know your dad will be. And you know what? I think I am too."

If she was honest with herself, all she felt was relief. She'd been worrying about her need to leave the team to fend for itself for what seemed like forever but now she'd decided to do just that, it was a weight off her mind and she could focus for a while on what was probably the most important job of her life; being a mother.

*

The place was quiet when the team returned; too quiet in Siannon's opinion. She stuck her head round the office door to check on Gwen, only to find her boss asleep in her chair with a smile on her face. Obviously Gwen had made some sort of peace with herself. Siannon backed out, careful not to make a sound; there would be time enough to speak to Gwen later, after she'd informed the team that Gwen would imminently be going on maternity leave.

*

Gwen stretched as she woke from what had been a surprisingly restful nap aware of a soft voice humming what sounded like a lullaby. She opened her eyes to find Siannon perched on the desk in front of her, a gentle smile on her face as her green eyes stared off into the distance. Their focus soon changed as Gwen wriggled slightly.

"I didn't really want to disturb you, but I thought you'd best wake up before you ended up aching all over. Even the most comfortable chair isn't after a while," Siannon said.

"You got that right," Gwen replied with a slight groan as she shifted.

"Plus, I thought that you might want to formally let the team know you were going to start your mat leave and you can't do that if you're asleep; though it works great as an informal method."

"I suppose it does at that. Still; it's time. It just took me until today to realise it. Now give me hand to get up, will you? I think I'm stuck…"

Siannon obliged with a grave chivalry that rivalled Ancelyn's, but they were both giggling by the time they left the office. It felt good to laugh, even if it did wake up the baby.

Gwen linked Siannon's arm as they headed towards the others. Siannon grinned at her.

"So, this is it, Gwen. How do you feel; about us, about leaving?"

"Proud and relieved. When we stood there on the Plas all those months ago I never thought we'd be able to keep Torchwood alive, never mind anything else, yet here we are."

"Amazing what a bit of Welsh determination and a few Irish dreams can accomplish."

"Isn't it just," Gwen said with a smile. She rubbed the swell of her belly. "This is the most amazing thing, though."

"Rhys would heartily agree with you on that and you won't get any arguments from me either. In fact, I think they'll all agree." Siannon nodded towards the gathered team who were all smiles, including Johnson.

"You know, I think they might. I'd best tell 'em then, hadn't I?"

She grinned. This was it; the next step in her life was a reality and Gwen was finally ready – and glad – to take it.

~*~

 

_~ No Time to Cry ~_

  
_*_

 

The moonlight cast a cold and harsh glow over Jack's features as he stood by the window of their room. Methos didn't bother asking him to come back to bed, he'd learned over the last few months that it was a futile exercise and only ended in unpleasantness for them both. He wished it could have been different but despite all of his good intentions about letting Jack find his own path, his grief had stood in the way of objectivity on more than one occasion. He eased out of the bed and padded over to the window, noticing the open laptop on the desk. He stopped, his attention grabbed by the swirling star charts and incomprehensible text on the screen. It seemed that Jack had decided where his road was going to take him. With one last glance at the computer, Methos made his way over to Jack and snaked his arms around him, chin resting on one broad shoulder. Jack didn't acknowledge him, didn't make any response at all, just stood there cold and unmoving, a silver fleshed statue. Methos hated it when Jack was like this but he was getting too weary to fight for him any more.

"I take it you've found the next road to travel?" Methos asked gently, breath puffing softly past Jack's ear. Jack shivered, and a hand came up to rest on one of Methos' where it lay against his ribs.

"I think so," Jack whispered. "I can't stay here any longer. This planet - these people - even you... Everything reminds me of what I did, of what I'm capable of doing, of what I lost. The whole world's a graveyard, Methos, and I'm sick of death. It follows me everywhere I go here so I've got to get away before I lose the little sanity I've got left. Seems a hell of a way to repay you for making sure I've got that much _**to**_ lose, though."

Methos tightened his arms around Jack for a second, and kissed his shoulder gently.

"Payment isn't required, and never will be... though there is one thing I think you should do before you leave." Methos felt Jack become even more tense within the circle of his arms, which he hadn't thought would be possible.

"Which is?" Jack asked warily.

"Say goodbye to Gwen, she deserves that much."

Jack almost sagged into Methos' arms, the tension suddenly gone from his body.

"I'm not sure I can."

"And I think you need to. Are we going to argue about it?" There'd been too many arguments between them; probably inevitable with the amount of grief and pain they were both carrying, not to mention Jack's guilt. Arguing was not healthy for either of them and Methos would rather walk out - and had done - than have another.

"No. No argument." Jack sighed, a defeated sound if ever there was one in Methos' opinion, and it hurt. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, I know all about trying to avoid goodbyes." Methos thought it was probably a good job that Jack didn't see the smile he had to hide in his shoulder, he might take it the wrong way and explaining to Jack about his past always ended up being so long winded for some reason. Then the pain hit him again, like a knife in his guts; God, he missed Ianto.

"And what about us?" Jack whispered.

"I won't be saying goodbye. You will see me again - it might not be soon, and it might be when you least expect it, but you won't be able to avoid me forever."

"I don't think I'd want to; forever is a long time."

"Good." With a last brush of his lips across Jack's skin, Methos let go and headed back to bed. He was just getting comfortable when the bed dipped on the other side and he turned over to find Jack watching him with the strangest expression on his face.

"It hurts to look at you, Methos. And yet..." Jack leaned down to kiss him deeply and Methos was helpless to do anything apart from respond, even while his mind was shrieking agreement with what Jack said. Eventually, they drifted towards sleep, clinging to each other like they hadn't done in what seemed to be ages and Methos knew that Jack had made the right decision - for them both.

 

~*~

 _It's time to let go_  
Time to spend some time alone  
Reconsider what could be done 

 

_~*_ _~_

 

*

 

That Jack contacted Gwen was no surprise to Siannon, the surprise was that it had taken 6 months since their lives turned upside down for him to do so. She would not have found out except for one thing. It was a simple, uncomplicated thing and it didn't involve hush hush or alien technology, but was probably the most effective form of surveillance of Gwen that would ever be available, especially once she was effectively barred from Torchwood for the sake of the baby, as it was so unobtrusive as to be undetectable… a certain Rhys Williams. Rhys had taken Siannon's promise to protect Gwen and the baby seriously, even if Gwen didn't, and Siannon knew that in his opinion Jack Harkness was very definitely something from which they all needed to be protected.

Armed with a time and a date, though she had precious little notice, Siannon got to work. Jack would do whatever Jack thought was best but whether that actually was the best thing to do was a different story entirely and where Jack happened to be, Methos would surely be close and _he_ was her priority; over a thousand years of friendship – and more – gave her no other option. She told no-one, least of all Gwen, of the motivation behind her preparations as she suspected that the only reason Jack was returning was to say goodbye.

She doubted that she would be gone from Torchwood long but she needed complete freedom to do what she thought was best in the situation that was going to land in her lap very soon and freedom meant no Torchwood, as she could not afford to be distracted.

Backup for the fledgling Torchwood team was the least of her problems; that was sorted by a quick phone call to Rich in Cumbria and another, somewhat longer, to Brigadier Bambera. Rich would arrive in Cardiff the next day, Bambera and her team would hopefully never be required. The rest of the time she had before she broke the news to the team was spent on frustrating phone calls to various airlines that made her want to grind her teeth and yell at people in equal measure and awkward phone calls to Seacouver; the airlines were the easiest to deal with by far.

Siannon didn't expect the team to be particularly impressed by her news, especially when she wasn't going to tell them why she needed time away at such short notice but she honestly didn't care. Much as she was proud of the team she and Gwen had built, of what they had all managed to accomplish in the last few months, there were things that transcended that, ties and loyalties they had no hope of comprehending.

*

The team piled into the area that was used for briefings, breaks and the occasional drinking session with various mutterings and grumbles that soon stilled as they sat down. It was obvious they were all wondering just what the hell was going on. Siannon wondered who would break the silence first.

"Well?" It was Johnson who asked.

Siannon looked down at her hands, noticing that her nails were ragged and uneven in places from where she'd been biting at them while she was on the phone. She sighed, and raised her head to face them; their expressions ranged from curious (Simon) to worried (Lois) though Johnson was remaining as expressionless as possible.

"I have to inform you that I will be taking a leave of absence from Torchwood for a while, but I don't know for how long. Yet," Siannon said.

"What do you mean? You're leaving? You can't leave, you're our medic," Lois protested.

"Not to mention being the person who is supposedly in charge while Gwen Cooper is… indisposed," Johnson added, then continued, "Is she aware of your proposed little jaunt?"

"I would imagine not, or she'd most likely be down here breathing fire," Simon commented. Siannon had to admit that he had a point; Gwen would not be happy if she knew that Siannon was leaving, even just for a short time, which was why Siannon was not going to tell her; she did not want to be dealing with an unhappy Gwen until after the fact.

"It is not in Torchwood's best interests for Gwen to be informed of my absence, I'm sure you'll all agree with that." Judging by the looks on their faces, the other three did.

"It might not be in Torchwood's best interests, but you are leaving us without another experienced person when we are already one down. I don't think she would approve. I certainly don't."

"Johnson, I'm not asking you to approve. I'm going, no matter what. You may or may not be relieved to know that Richard Ryan will be arriving in Cardiff tomorrow; he will at least keep the numbers up to a safe level for day to day matters. If anything does become unmanageable Brigadier Bambera will lend us some of her team for the interim."

"Mr Ryan's presence will be a welcome addition. It would appear that you have put some thought into this… escapade," Johnson said.

"Of course I bloody well have, we're a team. Just because an upcoming situation demands I go elsewhere – and no, I'm not going to tell you what it is – it doesn't mean I don't care what is happening back here; I do."

"Family?" Asked Lois, worry clouding her expression. It was an astute assumption and as close to the truth as Siannon would let them get.

"Yeah," Siannon replied. "Family."

"Well then, we'll just have to make sure Cardiff behaves itself, won't we," Lois said with forced brightness. Siannon could have hugged her, but didn't; if Lois gave her approval the others would back off, they always did.

"I'm sure we'll manage," said Simon. "If nothing else it'll be good to have another guy around the place for a bit, even if we can't talk football."

Lois giggled at that while Johnson gave a long suffering sigh, which seemed to signal the end of the meeting. Siannon breathed a sigh of relief as they trooped back out again; it could have been a whole heap nastier. She'd had hopes that Rich's presence would be a mitigating factor as he'd got on well with the whole team last time he'd been in Cardiff and she was glad to have been proved right.

By early afternoon of the next day, Simon and Johnson had given up trying to communicate with her and left it to Lois to chase her out. If Siannon hadn't been so preoccupied, she would have found it funny but as it was she grunted a half-hearted 'why?' at Lois when the suggestion was made that Siannon should leave to await the arrival of Mr Ryan elsewhere.

"I would have thought that was obvious," replied Lois.

"Indulge me," Siannon said. Lois sighed and shook her head.

"To be honest, you're no use here so you might as well get out from under our feet. Then you can send Richie in when he's ready while you do whatever it is you need to do before you leave Cardiff." Siannon couldn't argue with that logic and made herself scarce, probably much to everyone's relief.

The roar of a powerful motorbike heralded the arrival of Rich before Siannon actually saw him. She gave up on her job of half-heartedly sorting out the inside of the car and stepped up onto the kerb to wait, forgotten bin bag still loosely clasped in her hand.

The sight of his smile as he pulled off his helmet never failed to lift her spirits, it was infectious and a weapon he wielded with great skill, something he had in common with Jack. The blue eyes lost some of their sparkle as he took a good look at her and part of her felt guilty for that but mostly she just felt relief that he had arrived. He tucked his helmet under one arm and her hand round his other and led her back into the house; she allowed herself to be led.

"Need to tell me about it?" He asked as he hung up his helmet in the hall and took the bin bag from her nerveless fingers. Siannon had intentionally told him as little as possible over the phone.

"Probably, but I can't, not right now. Call it delayed fall out and be done with it."

"Hmm." His tone of voice told her exactly what he thought of that and then she found herself deftly moved into the kitchen and pushed onto a stool while Rich puttered around the kitchen to make them drinks. A mug of tea was placed in front of her and she thanked him with a wan smile. "Anyone I know?"

"Maybe," she said. It wasn't really an untruth; no-one really knew Methos except for Methos and Rich really didn't need to be aware of the details. He took the seat next to her, his own mug in hand.

"When?"

"Tonight I think; I'm waiting for confirmation." What she really meant was that she was waiting for Rhys to ring her and tell her he and Gwen were leaving to meet Jack; that would be her cue to leave too, though she wasn't interested in Jack.

"Are you ready?"

"Pretty much," she said. They drank in the comfortable silence of friendship, Siannon aware of everything Rich wanted to do and say but didn't out of respect for her; it warmed her heart like the tea warmed her hands.

"Want to be on your own?"

"Please," she replied.

"Then give me a couple of minutes to grab my stuff and I'll be outta your hair. I'm sure Simon will appreciate the company." She sipped her tea as Rich made good his promise and hauled in the packs from his bike. It wasn't long until he came back into the kitchen, helmet once more in hand. "I'm done, so I'll be heading out."

"Thanks, Rich."

"Anytime. And I mean that."

"I know." She tried to give him a smile, but it seemed her face just didn't want to work that way. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, before turning to leave. At the door, he stopped and Siannon looked up as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Take care, Siannon and take care of the Old Man – he's my friend too." Before she gathered her head together enough to say anything Rich had left the house and the sound of his bike was fading into the distance. She should have realised that Rich would know that there were precious few people who would cause her to drop everything and run, particularly when she'd spent the last few months building a life in Cardiff, and fewer still who had been incommunicado for that same period of time. Despite her heart knowing Rich was not the kid he had been a decade before, her head sometimes conveniently forgot that fact. Stupid.

Siannon scrubbed at her face with hands that shouldn't be as shaky as they were and tried to decide what was the best thing to while she waited. She'd always hated waiting and what she really wanted to do was talk, but to someone who would understand everything without being told. Unfortunately there was no-one living in Cardiff who could help. The thought startled her and she let out an almost hysterical giggle as she examined it again. No, there was no-one living in Cardiff who could help but maybe in this case the dead were a safer bet anyway; Ianto had always known when she needed to talk and it almost seemed as if he was reminding her of that. She finished her preparations as quickly as she could and headed off for the cemetery, thermos of coffee in hand.

As dusk fell, so did the rain, but it fell softly, like tears.

*

As Gwen made her way back to the car she leaned into the comfort of Rhys' arm around her. No matter what else fell apart in her life, she had Rhys – her anchor, her rock – and he meant more to her now than he'd ever done. When they reached the bottom of the hill Gwen realised she could make out a figure in a long coat standing in the shadows, only just visible because of the lights from the city; her heart leapt inside her for a moment - until she noticed that the coat was wrapped around a leaner frame than Jack's - then it plummeted once more. It was Adam Pierson. The baby kicked as if it was protesting about her see-sawing emotions, and she felt a dull rage settle into her belly. Gwen broke away from Rhys and strode towards the shadowy figure, now making no effort to hide from her. She stopped short of physically shoving the man, though it was a close-run thing.

"You! I should have known you'd be here! You should have stopped him. If you wanted to, you could have made him stay!"

"Could I?" The tone of his voice brought her up short; she'd never heard him sound so defeated, so desolate, and his sigh was one of utter weariness. It made her remember that although she'd in effect lost her 2 best friends, he had lost so much more than that – and would have to live with the memory for far, far longer than she ever would.

"Adam, I..." She trailed off when she became aware that he was gazing up at the sky in the direction Jack had been teleported away and was not paying any attention to her whatsoever.

"Sometimes the only thing you can do is run," he said softly, then let out a bark of mirthless laughter and turned his attention back to her. "Running away is a time honoured method of dealing with immortality, didn't you know that Gwen?"

"Then why aren't you out there with him?" Her hands were on his chest, almost clinging to him and she wondered how that had happened. He raised his own hands, and covered hers briefly, giving them a faint squeeze before he removed them from his chest and gently pushed her away. She let her hands fall to her sides, searching his face for the answer she so desperately wanted. Then he drew a deep breath, and she knew it wasn't the answer she was going to get.

"Because there are times when you just have to run alone." She stared, wide eyed, as he turned and walked away from her, fading into the enveloping darkness.

"Adam!" She yelled at his retreating back. "Adam! You don't have to go too..."

There was no answer, save for Rhys wrapping his arms around her again.

"Maybe he does, Gwen love," he whispered into her hair. "Maybe he does." Rhys kissed her tear-stained cheek, and then led her back to the car. He was right, it was time to go; there was nothing for her up here any longer and she had a new life to build down there in the city that needed her.

  
*

 

Methos watched them drive past from his hiding place in the trees. It was time for him to leave too. With Jack gone, there was nothing in Cardiff for him now and he had a lot to work through before he got on with the everyday business of living - a new name, a new life; survival. How empty it all seemed. Even so, he would carry on; it was what he did best. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders against the impending rain and walked away.

As the road descended into better lit areas, the unmistakable presence of another immortal danced along his nerves. His heart gave a treacherous leap as he briefly considered losing his head to the unknown, but his pragmatism stamped on the thought too quickly for him to really heed it. He pulled out his sword; a fight and a quickening could be just what he needed. He took a couple of steps, sword in hand, trying to make out the other immortal, with his still whirling emotions clouding his perception of their quickening.

"Put the damn sword away, I'm not here to fight you!" His quickening recognised her just a heartbeat before she spoke and he was already complying with the command before she stepped into the light.

"Siannon," he acknowledged. She didn't stop walking toward him until she was close enough to touch, then she reached out and gathered him into her arms. He relaxed into the familiarity of it, finally letting his guard down. Her arms tightened around him as his tears fell once more.

"You are nine types of idiot if you thought I would leave you to walk alone in the darkness after this," she said as she gently stroked the back of his head.

"I've always walked alone at the end of things," he mumbled into her coat. That was true as far as it went and usually his choice in the first place.

"But sometimes you don't have to. I loved him too, remember,” she said, reminding him that alone was not the only option. “Now let's get in, out of the rain." Her car wasn't far and he found himself unceremoniously bundled into the passenger seat with a towel thrust into his hands before she slammed the door on him. He began to dry his face and hair, it had been Ianto’s car and part of him would have been horrified if Methos had dripped all over the inside of his pride and joy and her ruthless and affectionate practicality also warmed the cold places of his heart. She didn't start the car immediately after she clambered in next to him and he raised his head to find her staring at him thoughtfully.

"What?" He demanded. She didn't answer straight away, just gave him a sad smile and reached out to brush her knuckles over his cheek.

"I'm taking you home," she said. Methos was still too raw to make complete sense of the statement. Unlike some immortals, Siannon had laid down deep roots and actually had more than one place that she would always call home. He had no idea which one she meant.

"Home?" Methos queried. "Cumbria or Ireland?" He was familiar with both places.

"Neither. I'm taking _**you**_ home. To Seacouver."

"But you don't..."

"This isn't about me. It's about you, and what you've been denying yourself for the last six months while you tried to hold Jack together. You know you need to be around people who know you and someplace where every waking moment won't remind you of what you've lost. Joe is almost _**family**_ so I can't think of anywhere better to lay some of your ghosts to rest, never mind who else will be there. And when you want to talk about Ianto and Jack and Torchwood..." she shrugged. "I'll be there. Whenever and wherever you need me."

"And in the meantime?"

"I'll be here, in Cardiff. I made a promise and I'm going to do my damnedest to keep it. I have to."

Methos nodded, he understood only too well about the keeping of promises – he'd spent the last six months doing just that. He couldn't deny that Siannon had the right of it; Joe's would be the perfect place for his wounded heart to find some ease. He was tired, oh so tired, and he needed some time to hurt and mourn and heal, to simply be rather than trying to do anything. She was right about that too - he _**had**_ denied himself what he needed because he couldn't bear to see Jack so broken and had tried to add to that burden as little as possible. Well, he had time for himself now - he had nothing but time.

"Seacouver it is then," he agreed and settled deeper into the seat. Siannon gave him one last glance before she started the car, but said nothing else; there was nothing more to be said, even if much of it had been done without words.

*

Methos began to emerge from the numb fog that had enveloped him after that night in Cardiff as they crossed the tarmac at Seacouver airport. It was the difference in the quality of air that roused him, it smelt - and felt - of home, and that surprised him. In the last year or so he'd grown used to associating home with people, and it was good to know that his psyche still had a sense of place. He stopped briefly, and took a deep breath - underlying the smell of aviation fuel were the familiar scents of the city and the sea.

"Methos?" There was a hint of worry in Siannon's voice.

"I'm OK. And you were right." He didn't tell her what she had been right about, she'd know. She gave him a brief smile and a nod and turned away. "Siannon?" She glanced over her shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. "Thank you," Methos said simply. He would never mention the way she'd looked out for him, and after him, over the course of their journey again, but at least she knew he had been aware of her care. Now he had to take the next step, even if he didn't feel ready for it but at least he wouldn't be taking it alone - that was something he hadn't planned, and it made all the difference. He sighed, moving forward wasn't going to be easy but if he didn't, he'd be dead and he was in no way ready to leave his life behind.

*

The Neon sign outside Joe’s was like a beacon in the darkness, both in the dimness of the evening and that of her wounded heart.

 "We’re here," she announced gently as she pulled the car over to park and was rewarded by the faintest suggestion of a genuine smile from Methos, the first she’d seen since the 456 had shattered his life six months before. "We’d better get inside, Joe will be worrying." Siannon was worried herself, she’d not had much chance to explain to Joe just why Methos needed a haven in Seacouver beyond the blunt information that he’d lost someone. He’d respected her insistence that this was where Methos needed to be, not on the other side of the Atlantic. She followed Methos into the bar, wondering just how the next few minutes would play out.

 Siannon knew she had made the right decision as she watched Methos finally lose some of the tension that had been holding him together and sink into the one armed hug that Joe gave him. She was even more certain a few hours later when she watched her oldest friend sleeping peacefully on the squishy old couch in the office behind the bar; it was the only time he’d been relaxed and aware enough to sleep properly since she’d picked him up on that damp night in Cardiff when he finally allowed himself to succumb to his life falling apart. She gently closed the door over, wanting him to sleep undisturbed as long as possible; he needed it. She leaned against the wall for a moment and took a deep breath; right now she needed a very large, very stiff drink. Stepping around the bar she was glad to see Joe had provided just what she wanted and she grabbed the glass to take a generous mouthful of the whisky before she took the seat next to him.

"It’s like Alexa all over again," Joe mused.

 "Worse," mumbled Siannon as she applied herself diligently to her whisky. "He wasn’t expecting it and he’s here six months later than he should have been."

 "Six months ago? When the children were all possessed? What happened?"

 "You knew about Ianto and Jack?" Siannon wasn’t sure just how much Methos had told Joe about his life and loves in the last couple of years. Joe was probably his oldest mortal friend living, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would tell him anything; she knew Methos too well to assume that.

 Joe nodded. "I met Ianto once, in Cardiff, when I was trying to catch up with that elusive old S.O.B." Joe nodded toward his office and Siannon smiled at the obvious affection in his voice "He seemed to be totally unsurprised about immortals and watchers; I got the impression he’d seen a hell of a lot for a young guy." Siannon had to hide a smirk at that; Ianto had obviously neglected to tell Joe of his employment prior to Torchwood – not that she blamed him, he’d only known of Joe by hearsay – and had probably been pleased to get confirmation that he’d covered his tracks effectively from an organisation that was dedicated to gathering information. Joe continued, "And Jack? I only ever heard about him second hand – he wasn’t around when I was there and both Ianto and the old man were kind of reticent on the subject."

 Siannon sighed. That would have been in the months Jack was away with the Doctor, a difficult time for them then but nothing compared to what Methos was dealing with now. It was typical of both Methos and Ianto that they’d said nothing and Siannon could only assume that Joe had gained his information from one of the others. At least Joe actually knew about them; having to explain from scratch would have been twice as complicated and she didn’t want to think about how she would feel if she’d had to do so. Never had she been more grateful for Joe Dawson’s persistent curiosity even though it didn’t make what she had to say any easier. She glanced at her hands, unable to look Joe in the face as she broke her news.

 "Six months ago Ianto died, saving billions of children from a fate worse than death."

 "Holy Shit." She didn’t need to be able to see him to hear the distress in Joe’s voice.

 "Exactly." They both reached for their respective drinks simultaneously. Siannon would have thought it amusing if the reason hadn’t hurt so much. She raised her eyes from the table as the whisky slid down her throat.

 "Then why…" Joe’s voice trailed off as he cast another worried glance toward his office.

 "Just how much did Ianto tell you about his job?" Siannon could see Joe was puzzled at her apparent change of subject, but it didn’t switch off his brain.

 "You mean Torchwood?" He asked.

 "I mean Torchwood," she agreed.

 "I don’t think we went much further than aliens in Cardiff. This old head couldn’t take it." Joe tapped his temple with a finger.

 "That makes things easier."

 "It does?" Joe sounded like he didn’t believe her and she couldn’t blame him for that. Easier had probably not been the right word; none of this was easy, but it had to be done.

 "Sort of. Not only did they lose Ianto six months ago but Jack also had to make some very difficult choices. He fell apart. From what I’ve been able to gather, Methos kept him relatively sane but didn’t pay much attention to himself in the process."

 "And now? What happened to Jack?"

 "He… left."

 "Left? The country?" To her ears Joe sounded unimpressed to say the least as if he was wondering why Methos hadn’t just upped and gone with him. She put her glass down as she shook her head then raised her eyes until she met Joe’s. He _had_ to believe her or he wouldn’t have the complete picture, and to her mind that was essential.

 "The planet," Siannon clarified, not taking her eyes off Joe, almost challenging him to disagree, to tell her she was spinning a tale. Joe being Joe just nodded, as she’d expected.

 "Ah… Now that’s what I call running away. I guess Methos understands all about the need to do that, but it can’t be easy for him."

 "It isn’t. And now…" She pressed her hands to her stinging eyes. "I can’t help him." She wanted to, but she was the wrong person. The best person to have dealt with Methos when he was shredded to pieces like he was right now was the one who was cold in his grave these last six months. She was of no use here and it hurt like hell.

 "I’d say you already have." Joe’s voice was soft and his hand was warm on her arm, a touch of reality anchoring her to earth through the pain. "Don’t worry Siannon, we’ll look after him. And as for you…" She looked up at him with bleary eyes.

 "What?"

 "I have the rest of that bottle of whisky for you if you want it, and a place to sleep it off when you’ve finished. Interested?"

 "You bet I am. I think you know me far too well, Joseph Dawson." Joe didn’t answer her, but squeezed her shoulder as he reached behind the bar for the bottle before limping away and leaving her alone to drown her pain in the familiarity of whisky, something she hadn’t done in over five long months. She was glad of the peace; it was just her, the thoughts whirling around her head and the comfort of the bottle. For this night, and this night alone, she could let someone else be the responsible one. Siannon raised her first glass to the perceptiveness and compassion of Joe, both she and Methos were lucky to be able to call him friend and their lives would poorer without him.

*

The next morning she saw precious little of either Joe or Methos. It was Mike Barrett, Joe's business partner and fellow Watcher, who provided her with coffee, breakfast and the wherewithal to freshen up. She was worrying that she might end up leaving without saying goodbye when they both turned up in the bar. Their goodbyes were of necessity brief, but they were heartfelt and she was pleased to receive a proper hug from Methos.

 "If you need me..." she whispered into his ear as they held each other tight.

 "I know where to find you," he agreed. "Keep Cardiff safe for me; you never know, I might want to visit some time."

 "You'll always be welcome." They said nothing more – there wasn’t anything further that needed to be said. Siannon quietly left with Mike for the airport, to catch her flight back to Cardiff – and Torchwood.

The sky was weeping as the car pulled away from Joe's, the neon sign blurring into nothing well before Mike had turned the corner and they lost sight of the bar. Siannon decided she was rather glad of the rain, it would have felt wrong to leave in bright sunshine with the way she felt. The last six months were like a dream, the pain of loss almost new again, bright and sharp like a knife to her heart and she wondered how Gwen was dealing with Jack's departure. She shifted in the seat, facing forward and trying to convince her mind to do the same. Unexpectedly, Mike patted her knee.

"We'll look after him, don't you worry. You did the right thing, bringing him home," he said.

"I know, it's just… ah, shit." She lapsed into silence and dug around in her bag for a tissue to wipe her stinging eyes, glad that she wouldn't be arriving back in Cardiff for another couple of days; it gave her a chance to regain some equilibrium and be the strength that Torchwood needed, not the emotional wreck she felt right then. She sighed as Mike patted her knee again before turning his attention back to the road.

The grey skies followed her all the way back to Cardiff, including through her stopover in Amsterdam. She'd spent one night getting shitfaced drunk again, safely ensconced in her hotel, though she stopped short of giving herself alcohol poisoning. The next day she concentrated on getting back to a semblance of her normal self. By the time she was on the plane to Cardiff she had begun to feel the acceptance that her decision had been the best for both her and Methos with her heart instead of just knowing it with her head; it was a relief. As the plane pierced the clouds on their descent toward Cardiff, the sun bravely did the same, throwing the city into a stark pattern of light and shadow; it seemed prophetic.

Every step she took through the airport seemed like a long journey to get back to where she had been just a short time ago, though it felt like an age and not the few days it was, and she found it was aided by the soothing babble of Welsh voices everywhere she turned. She'd not realised how used she'd become to being surrounded by the lilting accent until its return made her aware of how much she'd noticed its absence; no wonder Seacouver hadn't sounded right to her ears.

Siannon was smiling as she finally stepped out of the airport building into a typically breezy Welsh day to be confronted with a rainbow arching through the clouds. Her smile widened into a grin, it was almost as if the sky was saying hello. The grin turned into an outright laugh as an unmistakable black Land Rover squealed around the corner and stopped with a crunch of brakes right beside her. Johnson had certainly got the hang of how to make a very Torchwood entrance. Siannon hauled the door open and swung herself up into the seat, throwing her bag into the back. As she did she heard an unmistakable mutter behind her,

"Bloody Torchwood!"

Siannon was still laughing as Johnson drove off with the same disregard as she'd arrived.

"You seem better," Johnson commented as she negotiated the airport roads.

"I am."

"Good. I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back," Siannon replied. It was nothing but the truth, she _**was**_ glad to be back; glad to be back with her Torchwood family, glad to be back somewhere where she could do something. Johnson smiled at her as she flung the Land Rover around another corner; it was the best welcome Siannon could wish for, a welcome home.

 

_**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~** _

 

Jack had no idea where – or when – on earth TARDIS had decided to take them, in fact he wasn’t even entirely sure they would even be ON earth as given Methos’ immortality and his affinity for survival, they could be at some point in time centuries ahead of when he’d left. All he knew for certain is that the TARDIS agreed that finding Methos was the right thing to do and had managed to imply that she felt that Jack should have gone searching for Methos ages ago while seeming to understand why he hadn’t. As for The Doctor, Jack wasn’t sure what he felt. Despite travelling with him for a few years he still found he could not read this Doctor like the previous regenerations.

Consequently, it was with some trepidation that Jack opened the TARDIS door as he had no inkling of what was going to greet him. He hadn’t expected to open the door onto Roald Dahl Plas in Cardiff Bay, and a horde of conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm him as he blinked in the rain-washed light of a Cardiff afternoon at what had been a once familiar sight. He leaned against the door frame, shaking with sudden weakness, unable to take the final step back into a place that had demanded and destroyed so much from his heart and soul. He felt a reassuring thrum under his cheek as if the TARDIS was reminding him that he wasn’t alone now, and that the whole point of the exercise was trying to claim back a piece of his heart with the hope that he would never be alone again. He patted her skin, acknowledging that truth; she was a wise old lady sometimes, as well as having a capricious streak a mile wide which meant that she and the Doctor were well matched. With a last faint tingle in his fingertips he felt her withdraw back into herself. He took the hint; it was now or never and with a deep breath he crossed the threshold into the achingly familiar – and yet not – surroundings of the Plas.

*

After the stormy squalls of the morning, the afternoon had cleared under a freshening breeze to the kind of damp and glistening clarity that Siannon felt was unique to Cardiff. On impulse she decided to head down to The Bay after finishing her errands, seeing as she was close by. While she still tended to avoid The Plas itself if she could, she enjoyed the walk along the waterside, letting the babble of humanity wash over her like the crest of a wave breaking on the shore. It wasn’t busy so she let her mind wander where it would as her feet trod the familiar path, paying little conscious attention to the people around her as she ambled along. She was jarred out of her pleasant reverie when a sense of wrongness clattered along her nerves. Something, Someone was out of place. On alert, she glanced around and realised she was near the ‘Tourist Information’ entrance to the old Torchwood Hub and her heart lurched within her, even though she knew that wasn’t what had set her nerves alight. Then she spied the lonely figure standing on the quayside and the nebulous feeling of wrongness coalesced into recognition.

Jack.

The wrongness stemmed from recognising him and the absence of something she had come to regard as a part of him.

The RAF greatcoat.

He looked somehow diminished without it, no longer his larger-than-life self, but even lost in thought as he appeared to be, he was a sight for sore eyes and balm for a raw and tender heart. She approached him carefully.

“Jack?”

He turned toward her voice, wary and almost startled, though as he recognised her a smile lit up his face; it was like the sun coming out.

“Siannon!”

She closed the remaining distance between them with alacrity, to be enfolded in a much missed and welcome hug. Then he spun her round as she laughed in delight.

“It’s good to see you Jack. Are you here to stay, or?...” She let the question hang between them without attaching specifics to it. His smile dimmed a little, but didn’t leave his face completely, giving her an answer without saying a word. He stepped back a little, but didn’t let go of her.

“Or, I’m afraid, which is why I'm very glad it’s you who sneaked up on me and not Gwen.” She gave him a soft smile and patted his hand where it rested on her arm.

“Methos?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed.

“Good. I can tell it’s been a while for you since you left, but you need each other just as much as ever. Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you where to find him.”

*

They ensconced themselves in a dimly lit corner of the nearest cosy looking pub, a place where Methos would have felt at home. As Jack relaxed, Siannon chattered for a while about Torchwood’s new home in the old St James’ church, Gwen’s baby and how things were settling down with Lois and Richie to help out. She made a point of not mentioning the other two members of the new team, she didn’t think it was in Jack’s best interests to know in the short term, plus she didn’t really know how he would react to finding that his former enemy Agent Johnson was now a mostly-trusted member of Torchwood. She could tell that while he drank in her words and appeared to be interested and happy to be in the know, it wasn’t what his heart wanted to hear. She paused for breath, and smiled.

“As for Methos, he’s in Seacouver. I took him there after you left and he’s stayed ever since. Joe is making use of him as cheap labour, I think, but I doubt either of them really care. He’s healing, but he still misses you something fierce, Jack. I just wish I knew for certain how he’ll react to seeing you again, he might be my oldest friend but he’s still a mystery to me more often than not and he likes it that way.”

“Sounds like the best thing I can do is go and find out for myself.”

“My thought exactly. Here...” She scribbled out the address of Joe’s Bar in Seacouver on a piece of paper that she fished out of one of her pockets and pushed it over the table towards Jack. “I have only one condition,” she said.

“Which is?”

“That you don’t frighten Joe Dawson to death. He’s a very dear friend to both me and Methos and neither of us would take kindly to him being upset.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jack smiled and glanced at the clock above the bar. “I’ll be able to get there before opening time I should think.” Siannon stared at him quizzically for a moment until she realised what he was implying.

“TARDIS?” She asked.

Jack nodded

“That means you’re both going away then. I can’t say I won’t miss you, even thought Methos has been on the other side of the world at least I knew he was on the same planet, and contactable.”

“Oh we’ll be contactable, believe me, I’ll make sure of it.” He leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. She glanced down, then back at his face; he was being genuinely sincere, she knew him well enough to be able to tell truth from untruth however well disguised it might be.

“Oh?” She queried.

“Methos is due a phone upgrade, I’m sure. I’ll get the Doctor to oblige; it’ll be the same number, just an intergalactic service instead of an international one.”

“There’s a thing, and bloody useful. It helps.” She sighed, then gave him a half smile. “Of course if you do decide to come back at least you know I’ll still be here.”

“Oh we’ll be back sometime, I’m sure. I just don’t know when. That’s up to Methos, the Doctor and a certain TARDIS.”

He drained his glass and though he was smiling Siannon thought he seemed a little nervous.

“Don’t worry so much Jack. He will be pleased to see you.” She paused and the devil inside her couldn’t resist adding, with a cheeky grin, “Eventually...”

“I’ll soon find out.” He stood, shrugging into his jacket. “No time like the present is there? I’m sure you’ll hear how it all works out.”

“So am I, one way or the other.” She joined him as he made his way to the pub door and hugged him, hard, once they were outside. “Look after the Old Man for me, Jack, he’s very precious to me. In fact, make sure you look after each other as I’ll worry less that way.”

“We will,” Jack promised.

“And if you scandalise your Doctor a little in the process, so much the better!”

“Oh we’ll try, I’m sure, but I don’t think this Doctor is that easy to scandalise, worst luck. We’ll let you know”

“And have fun in the trying?”

“Oh yeah.” Siannon laughed at the almost dreamy expression on Jack’s face, it was good to see and proved the Jack she had got to know was still inside this more pensive and cautious version. She tightened her arms around him for a last hug, then stepped back.

“Goodbye Jack.”

“Bye, Siannon. We’ll see you again, I’m sure.”

“I’ll hold you to that!”

With a messy salute, Jack spun on his heel and strode off in the direction of the Plas without a backward glance. Siannon took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment and wished as hard as she had done in quite some time for everything to work out. Then just to make sure, she crossed her fingers for luck and headed back inside the pub. She needed another drink to help gather her scattered thoughts before she faced the rest of the Torchwood team.

Staring into her Guinness, Siannon decided that she wouldn’t tell Gwen of the meeting until after she’d heard that they’d left. That she would hear was a dead cert, Joe would tell her even if no-one else did. It might seem unfair on the surface, as Gwen missed Jack even more than she did, but he needed to be given space and not be mithered to return to Torchwood which Gwen would do even if she didn’t intend to. If Jack was to return to Torchwood it must be in his own time and on his own terms and Siannon didn’t know if he ever would. However, she could ensure that he had the time to make that decision, and that there was a Torchwood there for him when he made it. That, she could and would do to the best of her ability. Torchwood had claimed her soul, just as it had for Ianto, Tosh and Owen before her. Unlike them she would be able to choose when to walk away; it was a sobering thought and unfortunately not a new one.

When she finally left the pub, darkness had fallen and the rain had started to fall again. It suited her mood. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat and started to walk back along the quayside, the slop and splash of the water a welcome accompaniment to the rain that was misting her face. She was brooding, and she knew it, but she let her feet lead her in the right direction. This too would pass.

A disgusted sounding shriek from the air broke into her fugue. She raised her head and glanced at the sky. There was a dim shadow winging its way back in the direction of St James. Myfanwy. Siannon chuckled; she was being called home in a way she could not refuse.

Home, where the closest thing she had to a pet was a flying dinosaur that was at least 70 million years older than she was. How very Torchwood. She turned her face up to the rain, and smiled.

*

Jack didn’t have too much trouble finding the bar in Seacouver. It seemed that everyone in the area had heard of Joe's even if they didn't frequent the place, and everything they'd heard was good. Now he was standing outside, staring at the cheerful neon sign with trepidation, wondering if he had the right to step inside, and back into Methos' life after the months – though it was years for him – he'd been away. There was only one way to find out; he crossed the street, walked up the steps and opened the door. Once the door swung shut behind him it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside but the impressions he received through his other senses gave him a glimpse of why a 5000 year old man might think of the place as home.

"I'm afraid we're closed, buddy. Come back in 3 hours."

Jack turned to face the speaker who was behind the bar sorting glasses, the other inhabitants of the place ignored him. The bearded face, grizzled hair and air of authority that surrounded the man clued Jack into who this must be.

"Joe Dawson?" Jack asked.

"I was last time I looked," Joe said amiably but Jack could see the wariness in his eyes which increased as he drew closer. Jack made a point of not switching on the charm – he didn't think it would get him anywhere with this tough old soldier.

"A friend said you might be able to help me. I'm looking for someone."

"Try missing persons, we don't run a lost and found service. I'm afraid I can't help."

"Even if I told you I was looking for Adam Pierson?"

"Yeah. Who's asking anyway? I don't think we've met. And what 'friend' sent you here?"

"The friend? Oh that was Siannon O'Niall, I believe you know her."

"I _**did**_."

Jack realised at that point that Joe might think he'd taken her head - he had no immortal radar system to tell him that Jack wasn't the type of immortal he was used to.

"You still do – she's very much in one piece. Call her if you want." To Jack's relief, Joe visibly relaxed.

"No, I don't think I'll need to do that."

"And Adam?" Jack pressed. He knew that Joe Dawson was aware that Adam Pierson was Methos, but there was no way he was going to use that name within earshot of people about whom he knew less than nothing.

"I still don't know _you_ ," Joe said, but not in an unfriendly way and Jack approved of his caution. As far as he knew, Joe Dawson had only ever been to Cardiff once and that had been while Jack was with the Doctor at the end of the universe and beyond.

"I guess you wouldn't. I was… away when you visited Cardiff. I'm Jack Harkness." The sudden grin that lit Joe Dawson's face knocked years off him and surprised Jack into tentatively smiling back.

"In that case get your ass behind my bar and into the office. Now. And if the two of you aren't leaving in five minutes then I'm throwing you out. Together." Jack then gave Joe a grin of his own, and stepped around the bar in the indicated direction. "You've lost the coat," Joe said, commenting on Jack's jeans, shirt and casual jacket.

"Not lost – just giving it a rest," Jack replied. Wearing the coat just hadn't seemed right for a while. Maybe now he would bring it out of the closet - depending on what happened in the next 5 minutes.

Jack hesitated in the doorway of the office. Methos was at the desk, surrounded by ledgers and papers, intent on the computer screen in front of him, and all Jack could do was gaze helplessly at the back of the bent head as a wave of longing swept through him and threatened to shatter him into pieces. Again. He knew why he'd run away from this, but now as he drank in every detail of the figure in front of him he could hardly understand how he'd thought leaving was such a good idea.

"Don't hover," Methos said irritably. "Either come in or go away. I'm busy, and you're distracting me."

"I wasn't sure how welcome I'd be," Jack said quietly as he took a step forward. Methos didn't turn round, but his back straightened and he raised his head.

"Jack?..." It was barely a whisper. Jack moved closer.

"In the flesh," he replied.

In the blur of movement that followed, Jack would never be entirely sure if Methos had exploded out of the chair and pounced or whether he had hauled Methos out of the chair and hung on desperately. He suspected it was both, though it didn't really matter as the result was the same – they ended up wrapped around each other inside and out, body and soul.

Oh how he'd missed this - the meeting of mind and soul and heart, the desperate shared need for understanding, the pain and the joy - missed it and not realised he was missing it until a certain time travelling, dimensionally transcendent, blue-skinned lady had given him a well needed but metaphorical kick. It was thanks to her that his hands and mind and senses felt like they were overflowing with light and while his heart still ached within him from losing Ianto - as he was sure Methos' did too - he'd discovered there was only so long a person could mourn. Jack had finally healed enough to reach that point and he could only hope that Methos had also had enough time - it hadn't been his decision as to which _**when**_ to come back to earth after all - but he trusted her instinct more than he trusted himself. He smiled into the kiss that was so much more than a kiss; judging by the reaction so far her instinct had been true.

They were broken apart by an unapologetic sounding cough.

"Your five minutes is up. Get out of here." Joe was trying to sound stern, Jack could tell, but he could also hear the smile in the guy's voice which destroyed the effect somewhat.

Methos gathered enough breath to try a half-formed protest

"Joe..."

"Out. You have a perfectly good apartment, now go use it."

"You heard the man," said Methos with a smile as he grabbed his coat in one hand and Jack in the other. Jack needed no further urging and willingly followed Methos out of the bar.

Later, when they were tangled in a breathless, sweaty and sated heap in the wreck of Methos' bed, Jack reflected that he was luckier than he deserved. He pressed a kiss into Methos' hair - whose head was a comforting weight over Jack's heart - and tightened his hold. He didn't want to let go of this man for a long time, not now he wasn't half mad and blind with grief and pain and guilt, but what Methos wanted beyond this moment wasn't obvious at all.

"Penny for them?" Methos mumbled into Jack's skin.

"Hmm?"

"I can hear you think from down here. What is it?"

Jack sighed, he'd hoped to avoid the conversation for a while longer and simply enjoy having Methos in his arms again, but if Methos was ready to ask, then Jack had to make an effort to explain. He took a deep breath, and let the reluctant words out.

"I woke up one day on a planet with a red sun and a purple sky, all the wonders of a strange new world spread out before me and I finally understood why the Doctor rarely travels on his own... even the wonders of the universe begin to pale if you don't share them with someone. He is never alone, not truly, not as long as the TARDIS is with him and I realised I was envious of that. I wanted it for myself - and then TARDIS reminded me I'd already had it, and turned my back on it because I couldn't stand the pain." Methos lay quiescent in Jack's arms for a moment longer, and then hitched himself up onto one elbow to look down at him quizzically.

"Did you just offer me a trip in the TARDIS?"

"Yeah. There are so many things I want to show you, so many things I wanted to show Ianto and won't ever have the chance to now. I want to see them, with you, while we both remember him. That way, he'll be there too."

"I'd love to..." The slow and sparkling smile that lit Methos' face was a confirmation in itself, then he frowned slightly as if he'd remembered something unpleasant. "But first I need to know something..."

"Go on." Jack should have realised there'd be something, he had appeared out of the wide blue yonder with no notice after all. Methos chewed his lip, and then met Jack's eyes with the sort of directness he'd missed.

"Isn't this a big change of heart for you in only a few months?" Methos asked. From his point of view it would be true, Jack thought. If he'd only been away for the time that seemed to have passed for Methos, he'd still be mired in his cycle of grief and guilt and in no way capable of making the decisions Methos was. Obviously experience helped when dealing with grief, even if it didn't make the hurt any less.

"It hasn't been months for me," Jack said. He shied away from revealing more right then, it could be done another time - and would be - that much he promised himself.

"Ah. Then why come _**back**_ to now?"

Jack supposed it wouldn't make a lot of sense to Methos - it hadn't to him initially - but he'd been... persuaded... rather vehemently that this was the right when for them both.

"TARDIS thought it was a good idea," he explained. "There was no way I was going to argue with such a determined lady." Judging by the twitch of Methos' lips he had no trouble imagining just _**how**_ determined she could be.

"And the Doctor?"

"He wasn't given the opportunity to disagree," Jack said blandly. He could tell the story about that another time too, preferably when the Doctor was going to be off the TARDIS for an hour or two.

"I bet he didn't take kindly to that."

"Not really."

"So is he going to be speaking to me or not?" Methos didn't sound overly concerned one way or another to Jack.

"By the time we arrive, he will be. TARDIS will make sure of it."

"Remind me to thank her when we get there."

"I will," Jack agreed and he'd make sure he did - TARDIS had been at her quirky and manipulative forte in the last couple of days. However, Methos' nearness - the touch of his skin, his scent, the barely discernable tingle of his quickening - was casting its spell on Jack and that meant that getting back to the TARDIS and the Doctor wasn't exactly priority one. "But first... I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to..." Methos was chuckling as Jack pulled him down for a kiss, but by the time Jack flipped them over he wasn't laughing any more - his mouth was too busy with other things.

*

The sun was beginning to set when they finally rounded the corner to see where the TARDIS had landed. Methos thought she looked beautiful in the dappled evening light, if a little incongruous in comparison with her surroundings, especially considering the way that any passer-by just walked right on around her without registering she was there. For some reason the perception filter had never worked on him which made it more amusing. The door opened and an unfamiliar figure with a slightly manic smile on his face stepped out and waved at them. Methos found he missed the leather coat, not to mention the more familiar planes and angles of the face he'd last seen this man wear, more than he thought he would - this would after all be the fifth incarnation of the Doctor he'd met.

"Not your Doctor, hmm?" Jack whispered conspiratorially. Methos nodded, that was a pretty damn good way of describing it and he knew Jack felt the same even now, though he'd never really been able to put his relationship with the Time Lord - whatever face he wore - into words.

"Make good use of your time?" The Doctor asked pointedly as Methos and Jack approached; they nodded and Methos made a point of not looking in Jack's direction. "Well come on then, some of us are getting older while you dilly-dally around with each other." He bounced back inside the TARDIS with an irrepressible grin. Jack chuckled.

"Is he always like that?" Methos asked Jack. He didn't know this Doctor and had no idea what to expect, though if the previous incarnations he'd met were anything to go by, quirky would be the least of it.

"Not always. Sometimes he's worse," Jack replied. Methos muttered under his breath, glaring at Jack who then started laughing outright. He didn't manage to keep the glare going for very long as Jack's laughter was infectious and it was _**good**_ to hear it again, even with the empty place in their hearts. Eventually Jack sobered and he offered his hand to Methos. "Shall we? The whole of space and time is waiting."

Methos cast a glance around him, taking in the familiar sights of Seacouver before turning his back on them. Jack squeezed his fingers as they stepped through the door of the TARDIS together and Methos looked back again, just once. He'd return, he knew that, but for now he was going to tread a new path, one paved with a lot more healing and hope than he'd envisaged on that damp night in Cardiff all those months ago, and he wouldn't be walking it alone. It would be difficult at times - he and Jack were too similar in some ways for an easy life - but nothing worth having was ever easy. And later - who knew what might happen? After all, they had the whole of space and time.

  


~E~


End file.
